


All is Calm, All is Bright

by IndigoJones, sybilius



Series: Holidays at Wammy's [2]
Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note: Another Note
Genre: And they get one :), B just deserves a nice Christmas, Card Games, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Plot, Days Before Christmas, Explicit Language (as in a lot of swears), Gift Exchange, Home for Christmas, Homophobic Language, L is a Piece of Work, M/M, Mafia-Typical Homophobia, Mathematics, Matt is an angel who no one deserves, Mello has issues, Minor Violence, Minor hallucinations, Motorcycles, Multi, Near is a smol beautiful sheep, Past Drug Addiction, Past hallucinations, Schmoopy kissing, Secret Santa, Self-Acceptance, Terrible karaoke, cookie baking, lots of coffee, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8926279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoJones/pseuds/IndigoJones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybilius/pseuds/sybilius
Summary: A little bit of peace is a tall order for anyone from the Wammy house, even at Christmastime. But between a Secret Santa gone awry, Beyond risking not being ‘home for Christmas’ , and, well, Mello, it’ll be a Christmas miracle if any of them make it out with their sanity intact.





	1. L, December 21

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Moor-Watcher's Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8289569) by [sybilius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybilius/pseuds/sybilius), [tartpants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartpants/pseuds/tartpants). 



> Hello, hello dear readers! 
> 
> This Christmas fic is a true labour of love that IndigoJones and myself started after the success that was 'All Hallows'. Because it has an Actual Plot (that got way away from us), it's considerably longer and more well-developed. We really hope you love it, and do let us know what you think after you give it a read. A lot of the story is very Near and dear to our hearts (yes, I am terrible with the puns forever). 
> 
> The holiday verse takes place in a sort of mirror-verse to 'Black Beats and Low Leads'. Predominantly there are references to 'The Moor Watcher's Eyes', which can be found here:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/8289569/chapters/18989456
> 
> And references to IndigoJones collection of Near and BBLL ficelets, which can be found here. 
> 
> http://whilemybodyiswarm.tumblr.com/tagged/fic-bit
> 
> Neither of these are required reading to enjoy the story, but if you get really quite into it, these are great to understand the significance and subtext of some of the events here. 
> 
> Hope you love it, and happy holidays to all!
> 
> ~sybil
> 
> *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prologue of sorts, that is far too grimdark for any reasonable Christmas fic to start. I didn't say this was going to be a reasonable story, but it is a good one. And I promise there is eventual fluff.

The bells floated out from the Winchester Cathedral over the moor. The landscape was a barren, dull, brown, the morning frost having long since melted into the mud. 

L Lawliet stared as long as he could stand its emptiness while Wammy set up the machinery. It felt like penance, seeing the flicker of memories of the boy on the moor.

"I know you're worried, L," Wammy addressed the screen rather than his face.

"It makes no difference."

"I apologize for my decision. It was a snap judgment. I was worried about your identity."

"I understand. It was necessary to send in the best operatives," L said evenly. He felt further and further from that list every day.

"L--"

"Please make the call," L sat himself down, scrunching his toes into the velvet of the chair. He had enough sleep and sugar in him to feel like himself. Enough to act like himself, too. Wammy's mustache worried slightly, but he caught L's eyes and nods.

They were both checking his eyes a lot these days.

"Look who's on my screen again," the arms dealer, whose name had eluded L for months drawled lazily on the other line, “To what do I owe this honour?”

“You seem surprised.”

“I suppose they call you ‘the greatest’ for a reason.” L flinched a little at that particular choice of words. He was glad that Wammy had left by now. 

"You believed you had caught me. How terribly naive," L noted that his hands were shaking, as they hadn't in months. It was a familiar tick. Better that than his voice. At least his liar's timbre was still intact.

"I thought it was a bit beneath you to hide behind teenagers. And still hiding,” Good then. They did not believe they had found L. 

They shouldn’t have found anyone at all. The thought was an insidious whisper, and L forced it to the dark recess of his mind. The case was everything, now. 

"You had nothing to offer. I had no reason to show myself."

"We both know that isn't true."

L bit his nail. This was what they prepared for, "I am prepared to offer an exchange. I will meet with you-- personally-- to secure the evidence necessary to implicate the cluster bomb manufacturer. In exchange I offer your immunity for the next three months with respect to the shipment of stolen Brownings. I’m sure you can clean that up by then.”

“That seems plenty of time. When?” there was just enough eagerness for L to know he had offered them the right trade. That much was safe. 

“December 23. You can choose the location,” Rhetorical, L knew where he was going to choose before he said a word. 

"Well, well. Christmas coming early," the arms dealer smiles on the other line, “It’ll be in Queens. You should see the address now. 

L glanced at the second LCD screen, the text coming up as expected, “Understood.”

“I look forward to meeting you--L.” 

The familiar letter seemed like an accusation glowing at him on the screen. L reacted, too slowly again, shut it down.

The stage was set. 

It was beginning to rain outside, not cold enough to turn into the sleet that was promised by the forecast. L was thankful that it blurred his view out the window to something more unrecognizable. 

On the corner of his desk lay two wrapped gifts, blue and gold with simple white ribbon. Normally there would be more decor in his room, but L couldn’t bring himself to do it alone.

Three days, he’d said, and looked L in the eyes before he left. Three days. 

L scraped his knuckle along his teeth. Small comfort that it was the shortest day of the year. It most certainly felt like the longest.


	2. Mello, December 22

“What the ever-living fuck?”

They’d sent Roger. Fucking Roger. You think for this sort of performance they would have sent Wammy.

Mello wiped his bloody nose on the sleeve of his white tunic.

“I am sorry, Alfred, this boy has severe behavioural difficulties.”

The headmaster of St Winifred’s curled his lip as if to show what he thought of behavioural difficulties.

“I shall be writing to Mr Wammy,” said headmaster Alfred, “and the local press.”

Mello doubt he would need to. The local press had been yawning through another St Winifred’s choral concert for the traditional pictures of plump boys in starched collars by candlelight. So when the Angel of the Lord suddenly jumped from his plinth and started laying into one of the Three Wise Men, more than a few camera flashes had caught his moment of righteous vengeance.

“I shall make Mr Wammy aware of your feelings.”

The dusty, incense scented air of the vestry was making Mello feel itchy. Also why wasn't Wammy here?

“It is a shame Quillish was not here in person to discuss this.”

“Unfortunately, Mr Wammy has been called away on urgent business.”

“He was in Wammy house this morning,” muttered Mello from beneath his battered tinsel halo.

“Well he is not there now,” said Roger, “but he will be hearing of this. Come along young man.” Roger roughly grasped Mello’s shoulder, “let's get you back to the orphanage.”

“Is this the child the Town Council got the ASBO on?” 

“I couldn't possibly comment.” Mello glowered at Roger. Yeah right, he thought, drop me in another letter writing campaign to get me sent out of Winchester. “Excuse me, Alfred, we really do need to be getting back. Mello, do you have a coat?”

* * *

“Grounded for six months, banned from chocolate for Christmas, totally worth it,” said Mello, lifting his wings a little to plump down on the bed. Matt turned from the screen to momentarily give him a grin before returning to killing things. “That’s one more St Winnie’s wanker who won't be running his mouth again.”

Mello paused to check his nose had stopped bleeding then continued:

“Hey, Matt - is Wammy about?”

“Dunno...saw him tea time by the landing,” Matt scrunched his nose, “been trying to finish up my Secret Santa gift for Sara--” the computer doesn’t show the usual blocky mass of gargoyle pixels or racecars-- this time it had a primitive-looking pixel princess, wandering about the landscape. Oh, and she had a machine gun. Matt does it right. 

Mello unclipped his wings with an air of the casual, “So Roger lied.”

Matt made a dismissive hand gesture. “Yeah, well Roger. Watari looked sorta busy with L anyways. How’s yours going?”

“L is here?” Mello bounced slightly on the bed. “L is back! Oh and don't ask about a gift you’re getting, dumbass.”

“Oh, I see. Again this year? Guess you wouldn’t want to do Near, even if it’s a like, one in thirty chance.”

“Of fucking course not.” Mello shifted his halo, “Can’t wait to tell B about St. Winnie's.” Mello re-enacted the killer blow, “Bam! Asshole went down.”

Mello was not going to make this about Secret Santa, not on the evening of his victory. Besides, he was done. He had seen just the thing in the Winchester joke shop two weeks ago, and bought it on the spot. Then it was a simple matter of breaking into Roger’s office, sifting through the scrunched up bits of paper and placing a subtle mark on his victim of choice. It had worked a charm the last two years, and nobody seemed to be wising up this year either.

There was a blank white puzzle wrapped in vibrant red, hidden in the depths of his closet this year. “The Impossible Jigsaw”, it had been billed, “Fry the brain of all jigsaw lovers this Christmas.” See, Sheep-thing was all lined up to get a shitty impersonal Secret Santas, because - well, shitty impersonal person. Also, nobody in Wammy House really knew what Sheepy would like, because in the six months he had been there, he hadn't shown any signs of liking much. Mello was damn sure he’d found the one thing he would hate, though. Plus if the big headed jerk’s brain was on fire, that could only be to Mello’s advantage.

“You think B’ll be pleased?” Machine-gun-princess-Matt despatched something on screen and the computer gave an electronic yelp.

“He’ll kill me,” said Mello, beaming, “he’ll probably get me sifting through days of shitty computer code  _ and  _ apologise to Roger or he’ll tell me my death date.” 

“Are you like, sick or something?”

“Nah,” said Mello, casually flipping Matt off, “B’s a smart operator. He knows he’s gotta maintain face. He’ll pretend he’s mad then accidentally leave a secret stash of Nutella in my path.”

It was pretty clear Matt thought Mello had a hero crush on B.  It was probably the subtle ‘Mello + B 4eva’ love hearts Matt drew over Mello’s school books. Matt could fuck off. It was just B had  _ style _ . He had a manner about him, and Mello liked that a lot. 

Sheep-thing would never have style. But Mello, Mello thought that style was well worth cultivating.

“Well, you’re going to have to wait for your kinky beating session,” said Matt. “B’s not here.”

“It’s not a fucking kinky thing, Jeevas.” Mello threw a tinsel globule that had detached from his halo at Matt. “And what the fuck? B’s always back for Christmas.”

“Well he’s not,” said Matt, continuing to shoot, not getting the gravity of the situation. 

“You know what this means?” said Mello, up on his feet and pacing, not waiting for a response, “it means he’s in the field. At Christmas. This is something big.”

“B is a detective,” said Matt, “being in the field is what he does.”

Mello chewed his thumbnail, suddenly very aware of missing chocolate. “I need to find out what. Can't put a wire on L, he’s too savvy. Can't bug Watari’s office after last time…”

Mello stopped stock still and then walked over to Matt. He reached for the power button on the computer and pressed down hard.

“You have to hack Watari's system.”

Matt’s eyes widened as the screen went blank.

* * *

“Sweet, sweet,” said Matt, four very long hours later. Four fucking hours spent watching Matt mash buttons and negotiate firewalls, quadruple encryption and the lousy sense of humour of whoever designed L’s security set up. One promising avenue of attack led only to a retro game of space invaders, which Matt played for five fucking minutes before Mello yelled at him to get back to the job. Another moment led to a brief glance at what looked like an email inbox before the computer started making an ear-bleeding bleep that would not shut the fuck up until Matt performed a hard shut down.

Mello didn't know where Matt found the patience. Matt looked annoyingly like he was really enjoying himself, occasionally muttering “this is a beauty” and “crafty” in a slightly awestruck way. 

So Matt was clearly getting his joystick hard but Mello was bored. Mello was really bored, and while he couldn't actually complain because Matt was doing exactly what he told him too, and that Matt was clearly really fucking good at this, it left Mello feeling uncomfortably like a spare part.

“Easy,” coaxed Matt, “easy,”

Mello hopped a few times from the top to bottom bunk until Matt threw a coke can at him to get him to cut it out.

“Need to concentrate here, Mels.”

Mello slouched on the bed. Matt looked like he was experiencing a glimpse of heaven.

“Heh, no - not falling for that, come on my beauty. Wow that trojan works a treat, there we go.”

“Let me know when you need a the tissues.”

“We’re in! We’re in!”

A blank white screen appeared, then slowly a capital L in some fancy old-style font. A creepy, electronically mangled voice came through the speakers.

“This is L. I am very impressed with your hacking skills, Matt. However this system is designed to withstand even attacks as subtle as yours. 

Your computer will shut down now. It will return to full functionality in twelve hours. Please find another activity to occupy your time.”

There was the gentle whirr of shutdown from the computer as the screen faded to black. Finally, there was a muffled clunk and the green lights of the keyboard winked out, leaving them in darkness and silence.

“That smug self-centred little fucker.”

“Okay,” said Matt, “pass me the tissues, that was awesome.”

Mello jumped him. The fucker deserved it. However even five minutes of knocking each other’s heads off the floor didn't really make a dent in Mello’s frustration. 

“We could go nick some chocolate,” suggested Matt, possibly as a distraction from the well executed Chinese burn Mello was performing.

“Like all the shops are shut, dickhead.”

“No, from the kitchens. They stash it all ready for Christmas in the busted refrigerator.”

Matt brought his knees up and winded Mello a little, pushing him off Matt’s stomach.

“Why didn't you tell me that, like before?”

“Because it wasn't Christmas before. And because I need you not to die from a chocolate OD.”

“You can't OD on chocolate.”

“Normal people can't OD on chocolate, but I’m sure you’d give it your best - ouch.”

Shut the fuck up, Matt.

* * *

“You’ve got to take it from the back, see.” Matt grabbed a handful of chocolate coins from the rear of the broken refrigerator and stashed them in the pillowcase. “That way no one knows there’s any missing.”

Matt, aside from being a sad fuck who got his jollies from machine code also turned out to be a surprisingly knowledgeable chocolate thief. Who knew?

“You haven't done this before have you, Mattie?”

“Yeah, well there's two ways to shut you up, and sometimes my knuckles could use a rest.”

Mello did not dignify that with a response, instead removing six chocolate penguins that seemed easy to overlook.

“Uh-oh,” said Matt, freezing midway through snaffling a handful of non-chocolate candy canes, which Mello supposed he’d give him on account of coming up with the idea, “Mels, we are not alone here.”

Dolloped in the corner, somewhat as if the whipped cream machine had experienced an overflow, was a small white thing watching them intently out of curranty-black eyes. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I couldn't sleep.”

“Fucking A. Matt, we’re being stalked by an insomniac ice-cream.”

“Hello Near,” said Matt, clearly not getting the gravity of being spied on, “want some chocolate?”

“No, thank you,” said Near, starting up with that hair twisting thing.

“Then why the fuck you here, Sheepy? Going to run to Roger?”

“Aw c’mon Mels, you know Near isn't a grass,” said Matt.

“I told you. I could not sleep. And I was curious.”

“Yeah well that’s not just fatal to cats, Sheepy.” Mello realised he was brandishing a chocolate soldier at Near, in a way that was much more ridiculous than threatening. He yanked his arm back just as Matt made a grab for him.

Footsteps creaked on the main stairs.

Sheep, it turned out, could move very quickly when threatened. In less than a heartbeat, Matt had him pressed against the side of the refrigerator, while Sheep thing curled around their feet.

“I really think you should consider a hot chocolate at this time of night.”

Fuck it was Wammy.

Mello must have bounced a little because he felt Matt squeeze his shoulder.

“I still need to brief Aiber.”

Holy Mary Mother of God. He was spying on L himself. Okay, Matt could stop pinching him, he knew how to spy for fucks sake.

“You are still not convinced of B’s choice for your proxy.”

“Aiber has done good work in the past.”

There was the sound of running water on metal, a kettle being filled. Mello caught a quick whiff of gas and the soft swoosh of the ring igniting.

“You think he is a buffoon.” Mello had to keep himself from sniggering. Wammy sure didn’t mince words. 

“It really doesn't matter what I think at this point. It’s B who is going in, so it is B who gets to choose his partner.”

Mello's ears prickled. Something was up. The bitterness in L’s voice was unmistakable. Had L and B fallen out?

“You may be able to give better direction with a clearer head.”

Mello heard a mug being placed down with slightly too much force, “It’s having a  _ clear head _ that caused this problem.”

Mello thought Sheep thing tensed a little against his legs. Probably just a sheep-spasm, although the conversation was just getting freaking weird. Mello thought L seriously needed to get his shit together. Also he needed to go back to talking about B.

“You know that isn't true.”

A pregnant pause settled over them, in which Mello was sure Wammy had received one of L’s creepy bug-face glares. Wammy cleared his throat before L spoke again, “Do you have a report from the explosives team?”

Mello felt his eyes bulge. There was going to be a standoff. With explosives. This was a hell of a mission.

“They have located five devices and have taken steps to disarm them, however -,”

“Watari, we should continue this conversation upstairs. Matt and Mello are hiding behind the refrigerator.”

L was on a mission to ruin Mello’s evening.

“Oh, Hi Watari, L.” said Matt, pushing the chocolate filled pillowcase into the small gap behind Near. “We heard something was up with B, and you know how Mels is, so we tried to listen in.” Matt shrugged. “Guess you caught us, huh?”

Chocolate thieving aside, Matt’s spy skills could really use some work.

“It’s very touching you are so concerned about Beyond,” Wammy stepped around the refrigerator, “oh and Near too.” Wammy beamed. “Let me assure you he is in safe hands, the world’s greatest hands, in fact.”

L was chewing his thumbnail distractedly. Mello did trust L, L had caught him after all, and rescued Sheep thing, as well as solved hundreds of other cases. Mello just got the impression that L didn't trust himself right now.

That was never a good thing. That was a killer. 

“Will he be home by Christmas?”

Wammy smiled beneath his moustache.

“The schedule is for B to return to Wammy House December 24th.”

Mello nodded. “Then tell L to fucking get over himself and bring B back safe.” 

Wammy turned to L and quirked his eyebrows. L ducked his head in response.

“I’m sure L will take on your words of wisdom. Now if you would pass me the pillowcase.”

Mello sighed and rolled his eyes. He knew he was dramatic-pouting, and he didn't care. He was pissed.

Matt handed over their loot.

“I believe Roger has banned you from chocolate this Christmas, Mello, so you understand I cannot let you keep this.”

Mello scowled. Yes he fucking knew thank you.

“However, as we all seem to be having trouble sleeping, I don't think a medicinal cup of cocoa could really be considered breaking the ban. Near, Matt - I take it you will join us?”

The other two nodded.

“That leaves only you L, surely you don't want to break up the party.”

L was pouring sugar directly from the sack into his coffee. 

“I’m fine with coffee, thank you.”

Mello noticed L’s right hand shaking slightly as he stirred his coffee. He caught sheep thing staring too. For a moment, Sheep looked up and made an almost squeak, as if he wanted to say something to L, but then thought better of it.

They all stayed very still, watching the milk froth into bubbles and slowly boil. It was tense as fuck, but Mello kinda felt like it was justified. Wammy poured out three mugs and then ushered them from the kitchen.

Mello gave L a very pointed stare as he left the kitchen, expecting him to take no notice as he normally did. L stared back, his eyes wide, which - since when did L engage in staring contests with teenagers - was what the fuck.

Back on his bunk, staring into the darkness with the creamy taste of hot chocolate still in his mouth - no Matt he was not cleaning his teeth, this could be the last chocolate he got till January - Mello paused to analyse the situation.

B was in a standoff with explosives.

His partner was a moron.

L was malfunctioning.

“B is fucking screwed.” Mello muttered into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to note that for a long time this was the first chapter before we added the prologue, and that it was highly amusing to have a Christmas fic beginning with "What the ever-living fuck?"


	3. Matt, December 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, there is SOME of the promised fluff in here, I swear :) We're getting there.

Cleaning really wasn’t Matt’s cup of tea. He kept his room in a respectable nest of dirty clothes, only taking the time to shove them under the bed if Roger staged a student-wide inspection. He was clean enough to throw out his last pizza box before it grew fur, or at least until Mello shoved it under his pillow as a subtle hint.

But it was Wammy that started the winter cleaning tradition, so there they were, up in the main vestibule, scrubbing the hardwood to shining ‘to welcome the Christmas spirit’. 

It wasn't so bad when everyone’s doing it. Mello was never too happy about it though, and Roger always insisted on him taking polishing duty. Takes the most elbow grease. Not that it tired Mello out. They finished polishing the staircase wood in good time, and Mello stropped off to go find some fresh holly for the wreaths.

That suited Matt just fine. It was nice to get a bit of quiet, especially after Mello had been vibrating back and forth with worry about B, L, god knows what else.

Mello could be a bit of a head case, even if he was Matt’s best friend. 

Matt wandered about the halls, peering into the rooms. The classrooms had all been turned into little production lines with the smaller students beavering away at Salt Dough painting, gingerbread making, garland making and paper-chain threading like industrious little elves. It was festive, yeah, but Matt wasn’t quite sure where he wanted to be.

He found the best person for quiet in the sitting room, cross-legged on the Moroccan rug threading popcorn chains with deft and careful hands. A few other students were at the coffee table doing the same, but Near kept his distance. 

You just had to approach him carefully. 

“Hey Near. Happy holidays.”

“Happy holidays,” Near doesn’t quite look up, “Mello has gone outside, then?”

“Yeah, he’s getting holly. Don’t worry about him though-- Christmas is special,” Matt picked up the thread that Near passed to him, plunking down on the rug beside him, “ ‘sides, he’s already gotten in trouble yesterday for whaling on one of those public school kids.”

“He beat someone up yesterday? At St. Winifred’s?” Near almost perked up curiously, “I thought last night was their carol concert?” 

“It was. Mels snuck in dressed as an angel, guess he looked the part. Looks can be deceptive,” he and Near shared a small, secret smile, “Then everyone saw it when he jumped the guy right in the middle of the service.”

Near curled his hair around his finger with a pensive look, his most common for thinking. Near’s hair looked soft, like the rest of him. He’s more of an angel than Mell is, Matt figured. But none of them can really cut the part. 

Near said nothing for now, passed Matt a few pieces of holly, silver bells and showing his popcorn string as instruction. Matt picked up the rhythm of it quickly, though kept poking himself slightly with the needle. 

“Do you know who it was?” Near asked, after Matt had a handle on how to do the holly. 

“I want to say his name was Mitchell. Ugly freckles? Brown hair.”

“Oh. I believe he was the one who broke my robot in town.” Near twisted one finger in his hair. Matt remembered the incident. The Winnie boys always hunted in packs and Matt had been too busy steering Mello out of their vicinity to notice Near left exposed. The first thing he heard was the crunch of Mitchell’s brogue on metal followed by a bray of “I see you in town again, that’ll be you, queermo albino.” Mitchell was shaking Near by his jacket. Matt clenched his fists and ran, but the Winnes heard his footsteps and scarpered, laughing. Near had seemed okay after it, although Matt noticed he hadn't been out to town again.

Near was looking contemplative, not scared however, “Did he attempt something similar with Mello? I bet that went well.”

“Mello probably would have taken his eyes out,” Matt said, now a little curious himself, “I didn’t think it was personal, thought Mello just wanted to get B’s attention again.”

“Maybe I’m wrong about that though,” Near continued to complete his chain, “He does spend an awful lot of time chasing after Beyond.”

“He has such a crush,” Matt said it with more bitterness than he intended, then poked his finger through the popcorn, “Damnit!”

“You shouldn’t be upset. It’s very clear Mello likes you best,” Near said it matter-of-factly, producing a plaster from his pocket. Matt sucked the blood off his finger and took it gratefully. Near didn’t make a big deal about too much. That was why he was a nice change from Mello.  

“Yeah, well, who cares really. He says he’s got me for Secret Santa again, so I guess he’s got that for me.”

Near paused for a moment there, his eyes widening, “Let’s hope Mello doesn’t pull any pranks this year.” 

“No way. I’d beat him up myself,” Matt’s eyes darkened, “It’s like I said. Christmas is special. ‘Sides, I think I’d have to get in line after B and L. L loves Christmas. Oh. Speak of the devil.”

As if on cue, a hunched figure slipped into the room on silent feet. L himself was clutching a cup of black coffee, the circles under his eyes darker than they’d been in a while. Maybe, just maybe, Mello’s mad worry is worth something this time, Matt thought with a frown. 

L looked slightly lost, glancing back and forth. Matt caught his eye, saw the desperation there, and then the both of them looked away suddenly, as if stung. He’s really worried bad, Matt managed to think before all thoughts sort of got jumbled when L,  _ the L _ sat down across from him and Near, and reached for a thread.

L’s hands were shaking pretty badly. He was still better at the popcorn-threading than Matt, but it was a little worrying to watch. Matt didn’t like it, but he doesn’t know what to say or do either. It was L. What could you say?

Near looked a little jumpy himself, huddling a little closer to Matt. After a tense moment he locked eyes with L, and then his body relaxed a little. Near wordlessly passed the box of holly to L, then busied himself with his own, almost complete, popcorn strand. Matt was left with the strange feeling that he’d missed something.

Happened a lot with B and L, but Near?

Well, Near knows things, Matt realized, and that’s just that. The quiet between them settled to something soft again. Even L’s hunch seemed to relax a tiny bit, if just with the repetition of threading the popcorn, tying a bell, threading the popcorn. The carols filtering in from the drawing room switched to ‘It Came Upon a Midnight Clear’, which had always been a favourite of Matt’s. 

He was just starting to feel like the quiet might be doing all of them some good, when Mello stomped in, arms full of holly, dropping the leaves unceremoniously on the newly polished coffee table. 

He looked up, beaming. His face was criss-crossed with bright red scratches as if he had fought the holly personally.

Knowing Mello he probably had.

“Get a load of how many berries they got,” Mello spread his winnings across the table, “ivy too, like the shitty carol. Even snagged some mistletoe.”

“Oh good,” said Matt returning to his threading, “you can catch B under it.”

Matt was sure he saw L’s thin lips quirk.

“What’s up, is he back yet? Has it happened?” Mello took a step back and realised just who was in the previously quiet room.

“Well, is it done yet? Has he got out? Is he coming home for Christmas?” he directed the questions rapid-fire at L, who didn’t look up from his threading, nor did he say anything. 

“Give the man a break Mel,” even Matt had to say something, though L remains impassive. “Sorry ‘bout my friend’s humongous crush.”

Mello, as usual, wasn’t hearing any of it. 

“Shut the fuck up Matt, I need to know--” 

L shook his head, raised a hand, “We will know the outcome...in full by tomorrow morning. But most of it, tonight.” 

“How? What can we do?” Mello plunked down cross-legged, at least having the grace not to sit on anyone’s popcorn chain.

“There’s nothing we can do but wait,” L started looping up his chain, looking a bit like he wanted to go, a bit like he needed to stay. Matt knew how he felt. 

Mello rocked back and forth, clearly not liking the sound of that at all, “He’ll be okay, though. B’s come back from all of it-- the black dart gang, the magic lantern killer and the Libra money laundering scam. He always pulls through. He’ll be home.”

He sounded like he was trying to reassure himself, but on some level, Matt realized, this was Mello’s way of trying to reassure L. Not that it seemed to be doing any good, L just nibbled at his fingernail, already bitten to the quick, and reached for more popcorn. Hoping Mello would go away, perhaps. 

“What would B do?” Mello asked, almost quietly for the first time. L stopped threading popcorn to look at him strangely for a moment.

“B would play cards.”

* * *

Matt still wasn’t sure exactly how it happened, but somehow by nightfall, they were sitting in a circle by the drawing room fire, L with a cell phone in hand, and Mello shuffling up the deck of cards, just the way B had taught him to. God, it was hard to get Mello to take no for an answer. L was usually best at it, but maybe L just didn’t have the energy right now.

Or maybe he wanted the company. Old man Wammy even looked worried about him, though he set down the silver platter of Christmas cookies with a wry smile. 

Mello frowned a little when L didn’t even glance at the cookies. Matt took two of the green-sprinkled shortbreads, then passed a third to Mello, a fourth to Near. 

“How long?” Mello set the shuffled stack down and takes a voracious bite of cookie. 

“Half an hour,” L looked at Mello, dropping the cell phone the floor, “that’s when we expect the call.”

“Keeping vigil together?” Wammy asked softly. 

“It seemed fitting,” L nodded, his voice distant, “Besides, I rather suspect that we would have to contend with another cyber-attack if otherwise-- and I’d rather have all hands on deck.  Q contacted me this morning to say that I was subject to several very sophisticated hacking attempts. I have not seen her impressed with the skills of a hacker for some time, Matt, so that is to your credit.”

“Oh, uh. Thanks. And sorry,” Matt blushed to the tips of his red hair. People don’t talk about what he does much, and it’s probably better that way.

“No need to be sorry. Your talent will be put to good use one day, I’m sure.”

“I think Beyond would be happy to see so many people concerned about him,” Wammy said quietly and L flinched violently at the mention of his name. He looked away from Wammy with an momentarily ugly expression. 

“I think he would prefer we start playing. Are we?” he turned to Mello with one eyebrow raised. 

“Yeah,” Mello said it with his usual defiance, but a little more uncertainty in his eyes. Matt doesn’t blame him.

Matt was wondering what they’d really gotten themselves into. L’s world...well, it was what they were all after. But it was clear by now that B’s life was on the line, and here they were, playing cards over it. Something to get used to, Matt thought, glancing at the bleak circles under L’s eyes, Or something to accept. 

He eyed the two cards in his hand. Jack of diamonds, ten of spades. Alright, let’s try for the straight, Matt thought, anteing up for the first round. 

Mello lays down the flop with a flourish, keeping his cards up by his face. Mel doesn’t have a great poker face, but he does bluff well when he wants to. So it’s hard to tell what’s behind his glittering blue eyes. 

“Twenty.” Matt dropped the chip down when he sees the nine, queen in the flop. 

“Hold on a moment,” Near stared at the flop, then back at Matt.

“Keep it quick,” Mello grunted, then glanced at L. 

“Call.” Near finished. Near had a good poker face. L called as well. When it passed to Mello, he raises to another ten and turned to L.

“So. Are explosives gonna be a problem then?”

L also had a good poker face.

“Not if we don’t let them,” his hands didn’t even shake when he called Mello’s bet, like all of them did. L took that round, too. They played a couple more, not speaking too much. Mostly L took the lead, though Near and Mello traded solid second place, back and forth. Matt could have been crunching the probabilities, sure, but it seemed like a lot of work just for a game of poker.

Finally, Matt got handed the Ace of clubs, Ace of Diamonds. Really a hand to make things happen with, he thought, eyeing his meager winnings. 

“It’s a standoff, right?” Mello tried again as he put in his ante.

“It’s a trade,” L replied, studying his hand with wide eyes.

“A trade for  _ what _ ?” Mello asked, seeming to grit his teeth.

“Evidence in a very important case.”

“You gonna take them down with it?”

“We’ll take several operations down, ideally, but not theirs. There was an exchange made. We’ll have to abide by that.”

Mello liked that, even as Near dealt the flop. Matt could tell Mello liked that quite a bit. Matt had to admit it sounded a little exciting, though he’d prefer to dig up the evidence from behind a keyboard. Mello could handle the standoffs, or whatever L called them.

Matt stole a glance at L’s shadowed eyes then his stomach dropped a bit thinking of waiting for Mell that way. Maybe we could get someone else to do the standoff, the thought seems stupid to Matt even as his eyes slide back to Mello, who is studying the flop greedily.

Right, card games. 

“All in,” L said very quietly. Mello let out a low whistle, looking at his hand, then back to the flop. Matt  checks the flop, a pair of queens and a king down. Jeez. L probably had a full house or better. 

Just his luck really, best hand and nothing to show for it. They were all looking ready to do something reckless when the phone cut into the silence, beeping only once before Mello practically jumped, and L snatched it up to take the call.

“Rue? Can you hear me?” 

“Put it on speaker for fuck’s sake!” Mello dropped his cards and moved closer, even when L hopped up onto the couch to get away from the chaos. He glanced down at them and 

“Aiber here, Ryu is driving at the moment. Ryu, wanna say hi to the wife and kids?”

There is a muffled ‘fuck off’ before B’s voice crackles over the line, “Went ‘bout as well as expected, though I should be keeping my eyes on the road. Hi, Lev. Package is secure, no explosions, but I’m dealing with a little flak right now,” a sharp swerve sounded on the other line. Matt reminded himself to ask B for driving lessons as soon as he could. 

“Rue, let Aiber do the talking, focus--” L’s fingertips whitened at the tip of the phone. Matt didn’t think it was possible to get that tight of a grip from just two fingers. 

“Ryu’s got it, no worries. I’m holding the phone, he’s holding the handlebars, piece of cake.”

“He’s on the bike?” Mello stage-whispered to Matt. Matt reshuffled driving lessons to higher on the priority stack.

L’s voice raised a few decibels in mild panic, “I told you to take the Crown Vic, you knew about the snow.”

“Still faster, I’d rather be able to dodge flak than dodge flakes-- minimal risk, right?”

“Right,” L didn’t look convinced. Mello looked rather gleeful. This was no doubt better than any gift he could have gotten for Christmas.

“I think we lost them,” Aiber’s voice is muffled in the back, but audible.

“Hear that? No problem,” Beyond said with more of a shake in his voice-- or maybe just static, “Circling back to the airport, smooth and easy. Fuck this weather, honestly. Looks like it’s only getting worse-- shit!” 

“Fuck!” Aiber called out and the line went dead again. L turned white, staring at the phone with wide eyes, waiting. 

It doesn’t ring for at least ten seconds more. L blinks, then dropped it on the counter and picked up his cards. He surveyed the three of them, biting his lip white. 

“Well. Can any of you call that?” 

“That’s it?” Mello burst out. L gave him a fish-eyed stare again. He shut up, picked up his cards, stared them, “Alright. Call.”

“Call.” Matt said, thinking that if he lost it all in this round, might be a better time to end the game. Near goes all in too. Guess this really is it, Matt thinks as he drops his chips, Mello drops the last cards down.

Oh jeez, Matt thought, I have an aces full house now. They laid down their cards one by one. L raised his eyebrows at Matt. 

“I got lucky, I guess,” Matt scraped the pot up to his end and hoped that B had the same luck as he did.

I mean, god help all of them if he didn’t. 

* * *

The phone kept deathly quiet for the next few hours. After the cards got packed, Wammy brought them sandwiches and set up a television next to the fireplace to play late-night Christmas specials. It somewhat succeeded in distracting everyone from watching the phone like a bomb about to explode.

Almost everyone, that is.

L flicked back to the American news every so often. The snowstorm had hit New York with a vengeance. Even if B and Aiber had survived...whatever it was that had them tumbling… it wasn’t looking good for being in the air. A lot of flights were getting delayed, or cancelled. 

It got late. Matt could feel himself drifting off himself, and Mello and Near had already slipped into naps on opposite sides of the rug, though Mello had a tendency to cocoon close to warm bodies and was getting closer to Near by the minute. Matt was just about to tumble off to sleep himself when the phone finally rang. 

Matt flickered his eyes open to watch L fumble with it, still wide-eyed and hunched over on the couch. 

“Rue?” The voice with which L answers the phone doesn’t even sound like him anymore, it’s so quiet and desperate. There was a brief sound of a muffled voice on the other line.

“Yes, hello Aiber. Is Rue there?” 

“Oh. I see. That’s good. Yes, I was aware. So he’s unreachable then?” More of a brassy voice on the other line, “Yes well, I would assume that would be obvious. Good night.” 

L hung up the phone with a sharp click, then slumped, his entire form just collapsing like a ragdoll.

“Fuck.” 

L set the phone back on the counter quietly, drawing up his hands round his knees. Matt knew he ought to say something. But it was L. What could you say?

Matt’s not sure he wants to know yet if B is alright. L didn’t seem alright. His whole body was starting to shiver a little. He loosened his grip on his knees, opening and closing his fist.

He had that look on his face, and it’s a little like Mello’s. That look when he’s gonna do something really awful, not the fun kind of awful. The kind that left him lying out on the mausoleum swearing at the skies and throwing chocolate bar wrappers at Matt. Mello fucked himself over every so often. But that was okay, Matt did the same from time to time too. They helped each other out. Matt’s guessing B and L do the same for each other, usually. 

But B wasn’t here. 

When L got up, hands shaking, Matt only let him take one step before he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Was that B?” though he knew full well it wasn’t, and just for a moment L stared at Matt like a wild-eyed stranger before his vision dulls to something grey and cool. 

“No...B...he’s on a plane. He’s flying here.” 

“You serious?” Matt stared at L’s exhausted, burnt-out looking eyes and decides that he looks to tired to lie anyways, “I mean, you wouldn’t lie to me just cause I’m a kid.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” L seemed to get ahold of himself a bit and sat down on the end of the couch, shivering a bit. Matt takes the blanket wrapped around him and tugs it out from underneath Near, sitting up to look up at L. 

“I started when I was younger than you were,” L said, apropos of nothing. Matt knew this, “And I never wanted to be spared the truth.”

“Thanks. For telling me,” Matt got himself up, sat down on the couch next to L, wrapped in the flannel blanket. He kept his voice low and quiet. Waking up Mello would be a bad idea, “Did you find out what happened earlier?”

He hoped that wasn’t the wrong question, but L just let out an annoyed gust of breath and rolled his eyes

“B took a tight turn too fast, and Aiber dropped the phone. They didn’t go back for it, too dangerous,” L said it with a deadpan, but Matt can’t help a little bit of a laugh. L stared at him a second then smiled just the tiniest bit too. 

“So B’s really coming home?”

“If his plane makes it through the snowstorm, yes,” L was clearly trying to keep his voice even. To his credit, he was doing a better job at it than Mello would. 

Matt ran a hand through his hair, “He’ll make it. He made it through the bombs, yeah? What’s a little snow? A few more hours, tops.”

L stared at the damask of the couch, playing with a stray thread there, “It’s an unnecessary risk. He could have taken the flight in the next day.”

“Yeah, guess so,” Matt thought about what Mello wouldn’t do to be home at Christmas. He’d take a bullet in a snowstorm, act like it’s no big deal. But it would be a big deal, “He probably just wants to be home.”

L opened his mouth like he was about to say something else, then closed it again. After a time, he said very quietly, “I appreciate your kindness Matt. I think Near and Mello do as well.”

“Oh well, I just, you know. Glad to hear he’s coming home,” Matt felt his cheeks burn again, not sure if he’d done the right thing. It was suddenly little uncomfortable with sitting up on the couch with the person literally everyone in the Wammy house wanted to be. Matt wasn’t sure being L was so great, really. He leaned back a bit, eyeing the space beside Near. 

“I’m gonna try to sleep, I guess. I hope B will be here in the morning. D’you want a blanket?” 

Matt shrugged the red flannel off his shoulders. L stared a moment and nodded slowly. There were plenty in the nest of Near and Mello, anyways. He didn’t meet L’s eyes as he lay down on the carpet to slip back into sleep-- but he does glance upwards to see L wrap the blanket around himself, slump down onto the couch, and force his eyes shut.

He’s not the L, Matt thought to himself, I guess he’s just L now. 

Matt stared only a moment longer before tugging the blanket from Near over himself. The nest of blankets is a soft, quiet haven next to the crackle of the fire. Between that and the two warm bodies, the temperature is just perfect. Matt fell asleep just as he was struck by the rare peace of the arrangement. 


	4. Near, December 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an outtake from this chapter provided by IndigoJones, if you were wondering how B and L's bath went:
> 
> Part 1: http://whilemybodyiswarm.tumblr.com/post/153511603968/epic-bath-fail-pt1
> 
> Part 2: http://whilemybodyiswarm.tumblr.com/post/153745218808/sybilius-hold-me-graphite-digital-i-think
> 
> It's fluff of the grimdark variety, which is to say, if you're here for the BBLL ship, definitely read this too ;)
> 
> This chapter: In which you think things may be okay, but then Mello. Heh. Near should not have to deal with this shit, but does so quite well.

Near was surprised to wake up warm. More surprised to wake up to voices. Crick in his neck. This wasn’t his bed, it’s rather like a floor and Matt’s red hair was tousled into chaotic manifolds next to his nose. Near knew it by the smell. It was Mello’s hair that caught the fading embers of the fire next, and it was then the realization settled over him.

It was Christmas eve day, and there he was sleeping in a pile next to Matt and Mello. That was not usual. 

“Can’t believe you got on that plane...” 

“Shh, shh. M’here, okay? Home for Christmas and all that shit.”

The voices were just beside him, and he recognized the gravelled one with the shake in it as L’s. It was muffled by something. Near shifted the blanket off himself very slowly to catch a glimpse of the two figures in the dark, kneeling on the floor, tightly wrapped up in each other. Puzzle pieces that fit together.

“Haven’t slept since you went in. Not really. Tried, though.” It was only because the room was dead silent that Near could pick up L’s whisper. There was a sharp breath from the other figure. 

“You’re still--?” Beyond Birthday, slight New York accent smoothed over by a childhood in Winchester. Raggedness was in his voice, but also an elusive softness. L just mumbled and nodded into his shoulder. Beyond breathed sharply, his arms tightening around L. Near thought there might be blood on his knuckles. 

“I can’t tell you how fucking glad I am to hear that,” Beyond kissed L’s head, causing some kind of strange emptiness to flicker through Near’s chest. He brought his knees closer to himself, trying not to kick Mello, but he kept watching the two of them, “So fucking glad.”

Their talk was absent, almost like babbling, none of it made close-fitting sense. But the details were beginning to come together for Near. 

“Wasn’t easy. I can’t believe you got on that plane.” L repeated, not looking up from Beyond’s shoulder. 

“Hey, I checked the dates of the passengers, m’kay?” 

“Let’s redefine ‘minimal risk’ later,” L lifted his head, sounding weakly like himself for the first time during the conversation. It occurred to Near then that perhaps he ought not to be listening.

“D’you think you can manage a bath?”

“If we can manage to walk.”

“Let’s try.” There was what sounds like a clumsy shuffle. Near had already closed his eyes, trying to return to the countably infinite to lull him to sleep. 

The room was quiet in their absence. Near’s mind was already working a mile-a-minute to put together the evidence, all the snippets from what L would not say coalescing to a complete picture in his mind. And all that, led him here, next to two other warm bodies. 

That pattern wasn’t entirely clear. Near shifted a little closer to Mello’s ribcage, rising and falling in rhythm. What line of events, cause and effect, led L and Beyond to cling to each other the way they do? To forgo all reason, bite nails bloody in the night for forces that can’t be decided nor known-- or perhaps they could be, if he holds his cards right, stacked them one by one. Near didn’t know. The chaotic nature of such a pattern frightened him, slightly, as if the smallest nudge could send him spiraling to the same fate. 

Matt rolled over into him, jostling him softly against Mello. Near held his breath, just a moment, will it shatter and cascade this time?

No one woke. He breathed out, closed his eyes. Counted Mello’s heartbeats, or perhaps Matt’s, until what could be called a reasonable hour of the morning.

* * *

Mello and Matt were gone when he awoke and he was not surprised. He folded the blanket into quarters, laying it on the sofa neatly. Breakfast would be served in fourteen minutes, according to the grandfather clock in the corner.

Over breakfast, Mello complained loudly at the other side of table about the distinct lack of L and B at the table. Roger indicated to him that they were upstairs sleeping. Mello appeared deeply dissatisfied with that answer, but settled for spearing a sausage and taking a voracious bite.

Near nibbled at his toast and hoped that Mello’s discontent would not cause further troubles, for either B and L or the other children. Regardless of what Beyond may have done last night, both of them looked in dire need of the rest. L especially. 

The Secret Santa was scheduled for eleven, just after breakfast. The fact that it took place on the eve of Christmas allowed students who were more seriously religious to celebrate the holiday with proper solemnity. 

Near recognised Linda’s sparkly pink wrapping paper, the same one she had used for the gifts for her Aunt, around the gift labelled Matt, amid the jumble of gifts under the Christmas tree in the saloon. The popcorn chains from yesterday hang in perfect helices around the modest pile of gifts from the children to each other. Near wasn’t looking forward to opening his, knowing full well why Mello would lie to Matt. 

Near shuddered to think what Mello had decided was a worthy punishment for beating him on the winter examinations. At least no one else would be subjected to it, and lose a gift for it.

He did not particularly want anything for Christmas, either. It was sufficient to have a quiet place to read and learn, and Wammy’s house had plenty of building tools that were free for his use. Another robot, perhaps. But that’s it. 

Near sat cross legged outside of the buzz of excited children, waiting for Roger to begin. 

“You excited?” Matt asked, surprisingly, dragging Mello  _ with him _ . Mello looked positively crimson in the face at the turn of events. 

“I suppose,” Near replied. Mello kept stealing strange and angry glances at the tree, then back at Near. It didn’t seem like a good sign. Matt sat down next to him, but Mello still seemed distinctly bothered and stood shifting from foot to foot. 

“You promised,” Matt muttered, staring up at him, “it’s Christmas Mell. Good tidings for all men.”

“And sheep, I guess,” Mello muttered under his breath, but he squats much like L often does, then tumbles down to sit. It was surprising that Mello thought the nickname ‘sheep’ bothered Near at all. But then again, there isn’t much that isn’t surprising about Mello. It’s very hard to follow why he does anything at all, Near thought, curling a finger in his hair. 

It was Mello who got up to collect the presents for the three of them when Roger called out their names. He practically threw the red-foil wrapped box at Near before plopping down with his own gift. Matt raised his eyebrows at the sparkly giftwrap. Mello didn’t seem cowed. 

Near wondered if he should perhaps leave, but that looked like it would upset Matt. He started unwrapping his gift gingerly, as if it might explode at any moment.

Knowing Mello, that wouldn’t exactly be surprising. He finally gets the paper off and slides the box out. 

It was a puzzle. Specifically, an all white puzzle. Every piece’s position must be deduced solely from its unique geometry with respect to the other pieces. Near had never seen anything like it before. He turned his gaze upwards, amazed, at Mello.

“What?” Mello glared back at him, having torn open his own several bars of chocolate and a codebreaking book, and was flipping through that without looking at any of the pages. Near looked away, but couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face.

Yes, Mello certainly was the most surprising of the others. 

“What the hell?” Matt was blushing furiously under his freckles. Out the corner of his eye, Near watched Linda lean towards Samantha with her hand over her mouth, clearly amused. Matt was holding up a pair of grey boxer shorts with a large, cartoon reindeer over the crotch. The placement of the red nose suggested a deliberate attempt to emphasise the penis.

Mello had turned a little pale but didn’t miss a beat.

“Yeah, well I thought you could use some clean ones after you told me they had two sides.”

Matt had an expression Near did not have a name for. Mello had an expression Near is afraid of.

“Yeah, I guess clean pants are always useful.” Matt stared at the floor for a few minutes before shaking himself out of it. “Happy Christmas eve, Mell. And happy Christmas eve, Near,” Matt smiled at both of them like lewd underwear was all he wanted for Christmas, really. Because he was here and with friends even if he kept looking at Mello curiously.

Near was still feeling a little tender. His own Secret Santa was a much better outcome than he had dared to hope, however Linda’s prank had backfired in a way that left Mello dangerously close to finite-time blow-up.

“Yeah, yeah. Now we just need L and B to get their asses out here, then Christmas can start for real. I don’t want to make cookies without B,” Mello flipped Roger the bird behind his back when he came to collect Mello’s chocolate. 

“B makes terrible cookies,” Matt said somewhat consolingly.

“Yeah, well, I just want to know what the fuck happened, you know?”

“I told you, B made a tight turn, and his partner dropped the phone--”

“No, dumbass-- why was L so tied up about B in the first place? Like what was so special about this case?”

“I think we can probably put it together,” Near said it quietly, “Knowing what we know-- Beyond arrived quite late last night from a mission that concerned both of them. It was sensitive enough,  explosives, and a trade of sorts-- sensitive enough that L was worried for his life.”

“L and B don’t generally work on the same cases unless they’re big,” Mello mused, seeming more interested the puzzle than the people, for once, “Haven’t since they brought you back.”

“L wasn’t working on my case, or so he claims,” Near admitted, “He was supposed to be resting at the time. He’s trying to recover from drug addiction.”

Mello’s eyes widened, though his mouth stayed drawn taut in an apathetic line. Matt whispered, “No way.” 

“Is it speed? Like, amphetamines?” Mello recovered first.  Near nodded back, and Mello sat back and bit his lip. He was smart, quick to connect the dots in unusual ways. Near often wondered what it would be like if they actually worked together, “Guess that makes sense. I was wondering how he never slept.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Mell,” Matt looked slightly white-faced, but Mello seemed too amped-up to care.

“Fuck off, Matt. I’m not stupid. From what I think,” and here Mello paused dramatically, like he did when he wanted a reaction, Near had observed, “This had something to do with the American case-- B said that L was working on a big arms dealership last he checked in. L he wasn’t supposed to come in for Christmas till now, but got back early.”

Near nodded seriously, “And Beyond had to go in after him.”

“So conclusion-- something happened to L, during the case. Maybe he even fucked up a bit. And B had to pull his ass out of the fire with this standoff.”

“Yes, that does seem to be what the evidence points to. To L’s credit I doubt he would have done the standoff that B acted in.” 

“Yeah, that’s not really L’s style--”

“But perhaps there wasn’t a need for one, and there became one. That’s all I can gather from the conversations we’ve heard.”

“B definitely pulled it off. And home for Christmas too. Whenever he decides to fucking show up,” Mello did grin beautifically then. Near could tell Mello likes to see himself as B, but with the number one status of L. Both were models, for Mello. Models for the perfect version of himself.

Near considered both of them far from perfect. But there was a job to be done, and they both saw it done.

“In any case, I think that settles why they are here, and what brought them to it. But I wouldn’t disturb them, both because they need to sleep, and I think it’s considered wrong to interrupt two lovers reuniting,” Near clicked his tongue deftly, expecting Mello to nod and see the logic in that statement. 

Mello continued to not perform as expected. 

“What the fuck, sheepy? It’s not-- like that with L and B. They’re partners,” Mello was crimson-faced again, and deeply uncomfortable, his hands jammed in his pockets, “They would never--- be like  _ that _ .”

“Be like,  _ what _ , Mello?” Now Matt was red-faced and upset too. This is not going well at all, Near thought, at a complete loss for how to defuse the situation, or what, perhaps, was the problem at all, “Because they  _ are _ like that.”

“He’s fucking lying, Matt-- or just wrong. He’s not right about anything when it comes to--”

“I’ve seen them, alright?” and that quieted Mello’s tirade. Mello seemed to turn even whiter, but Matt didn’t stop, “So just shut up and stop acting like they’ve got the plague or something, you idiot. It’s fine.”

“It’s  _ not _ and why….Why the  _ fuck _ do you keep siding with him?” Mello practically screamed it at Matt, on his feet. The other children had turned to look at them now. Near felt distinctly claustrophobic, wanting nothing more than to retreat to plastic walls with his new white puzzle.

“Mello. Language,” Roger said after an uncomfortable pause.

“Fuck. Off.” Mello stomps out of the room. Matt counts to three next to Near, and then gets up and goes after him. 

It’s quieter, at least, without them. 

* * *

Near inferred from Mello’s storming out of the school, the oaken doors slamming behind him, that even Matt had not been able to calm Mello down from his fury. Or perhaps Matt was the one upset now.

Neither Matt, nor Mello, nor even Beyond made an appearance in the kitchen as the gingerbread started to come out of the oven. Though the other children clamoured eagerly over icing and jelly beans, Near could not  bring himself to get excited about it. It felt, strangely, like there were pieces missing. Near took three star-shaped cookies, wrapped them up and climbed the stairs to the room that Matt and Mello share. 

He hesitated briefly at the closed door-- if Mello was inside, it was quite likely his arrival would only make things worse. Then again, he hadn’t expected Mello to select such a well-suited gift for him either-- so it’s more than likely any preconceived ideas about what Mello might do would be completely wrong. 

Thinking that didn’t help the nervousness fluttering in his chest though. Near remembered what Matt did. He counted to three in his mind, then softly knocked on the door.

“What?” was the angry, miserable response that returned. Matt, at least. Near didn’t know what to say, searching for the reasons he had come. It took him enough time that Matt wrenched open the door, hair a mess and mouth in a drawn line.

“Oh. Hi, Near.”

“Are you alright?” was what came out. Yes, Near thought, that seems like the correct thing to say. 

“No-- yes. Come in.” Matt opened the door and flopped down on the bottom bunk, which was his half of the bed, Near presumed. Near didn’t share a room, “You can sit, if you like.”

“Where is Mello?” Near asked, taking a seat on the bed and surveying the room carefully. He’d never been in here before. It was about as messy as he expected, though the Super Mario and Zelda posters he should have expected. Both beds were rumpled, and a mass of computer equipment lay in the corner of the room. 

“Mello is a fucking idiot, and it doesn’t matter where he is,” Matt balled his fists in the blankets. Near narrowed his eyes in surprise. Matt wasn’t prone to swearing, not at all. That was more Mello’s affectation. But he was upset, because Mello was upset. That much was clear. 

“I’m not sure why Mello is acting this way,” yes, clear responses. Perhaps that will solve the problem. Perhaps Matt will be able to unravel Mello’s puzzle the way they unraveled L and B’s, “I thought L and B’s relationship was...obvious.”

“I thought a lot of things were obvious but obviously I was wrong,” Matt’s eyes were more than a little red, Near noticed just then, and should have noticed before he said that. 

“I thought that too.” 

“Look you don’t need to worry about him. Fuck him.” Matt was getting more agitated, not less, and not interested in speaking about Mello. 

“Okay,” Near had lost the thread of more or less anything he’d like to say. Discomfort was starting to squirm in his chest as he realized there was no conceivable path to understanding this, if Matt wasn’t willing to speak about it. And something seemingly whole and natural, Matt and Mello’s friendship, was more knotted and difficult to unravel than it outwardly appeared. Were all friendships like this? Near wondered, or was that another trait unique to Mello? He almost flinches when Matt leaned over to rest his heavy head on Near’s shoulder. 

“Sorry,” Matt sat up a little, brushing his eyes off with his fist, “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Near tugged his arm very tentatively, until the weight of Matt’s head settled on his shoulder, “I was surprised. I brought cookies.”

Matt laughed a little weakly and takes one of the gingerbread stars, “Thanks Near.”

“I’m very sorry I’ve upset Mello, and you,” Near took a nibble out of one of the stars. This also felt like the incorrect thing to say, especially since Matt shook his head and sat up, setting the other cookie on the bedside table. 

Matt attempted a smile, “It’s like I said, it’s Mello that’s being the idiot. You should go join the others, alright? Enjoy your Christmas eve. I’ll catch up with you after.” 

“Alright,” Near accepted the dismissal, dusted the crumbs off his pants and closed the door quietly behind him. 

He didn’t feel like joining the other children, it was rather chaotic and he didn’t think much of his aptitude for decorating. He collected a handful more of the gingerbread cookies, then retreated. The saloon was empty, and his brand-new puzzle was waiting quietly in the corner of the room. The other children would be preparing for the pantomime, so Near doubted he will be disturbed.  

The second most difficult to predict person at Wammys proved him wrong. Beyond looked well-rested but rumpled when he slouched into the saloon in a bright green-and-red Christmas sweater, and jeans that look more like they belong to L. B seemed like he was looking for someone. Near assumed it would be Mello.

“Afternoon, Near.” Beyond approached quietly, a mug of coffee, no doubt heavily sugared, in his hand. Near certainly didn’t trust B, but paradoxically, felt quite safe with him. There was something about remembering the person who shot someone in front of you, in order to save you, that maintains those kind of paradoxes. Near had tried to justify that, but now did not quite seem like the time. 

“Good afternoon, B.”

“Cookies from the decorating?”

“Would you like one?”

“Thanks,” Beyond smiled all the way to his high cheekbones and sat down on the rug next to Near. The two of them didn’t talk much, like usual. Near sorted the pieces, and Beyond watched him do it, nibbling at the gingerbread.

After some time, there was the slight shuffle of approaching bare footsteps. Beyond’s gaze was magnetic to the stooping, half-frowning, half-smiling figure at the north entrance. L’s eyes looked slightly less darkened, his hair more dampened and less matted than the night before, and he was sporting his own midnight-blue sweater with snowflakes. Beyond smiled and patted the ground on the rug next to him. 

“Hey sleepyhead.” 

“Please tell me someone has made coffee.” 

“There’s some in the kitchen, I think,” B frowned, albeit a little indulgently, when L slipped the coffee cup from his hand and took a sip, surveying Near with a nod. 

“Strange that Mello hasn’t found you out yet,” L squatted down on the rug, staring at the puzzle pieces. He didn’t look at Near, but something in the way he side-glanced at B suggested he expected an answer from Near. Near wasn’t sure what L wanted him to say, turning

“Huh. Guess it is, yeah.” Beyond tried to ease the coffee out of L’s hands, who was having none of it, but also wasn’t letting up on Near either. Even before coffee, L always knew when there was something to be known, and was not likely to stop his staring until Near came out with it.

There was no reason not to, Near supposed.

“Mello has been rather upset all morning, since I informed him that you two were lovers. He argued with Matt and then-,” Near didn’t look up from his puzzle, but could hear the cough of L choking on his coffee, “I’m sorry, was that a secret?”

“Not exactly,” L gulped as Beyond rubbed him on the back with a slightly incredulous smile.

“Matt caught me welcoming your butt back for Halloween,” Beyond shrugged his shoulders almost playfully, but the smile faded from his lips after a moment. “Nice of him to keep quiet about it.”

“Doesn’t reflect well on Mello’s detective skills,” L said after a brief silence, causing Beyond to snort, though the furrow in his brow doesn’t quite go away.

“Hey, go easy on the Mels,” Beyond stroked L’s arm, “It’s not like there haven’t been kids around. Which, is this okay?”

“Still. His observations and inferences truly need some work. And yes, you may continue.”

“You’re such an asshole before you have your coffee,” Beyond shook his head when L offered the mug back to him, “Nah, just keep it.”

The conversation falls into silence, in which Beyond starts to bite at the skin of his knuckles, and L chews at his thumbnail. 

“If you’re thinking about talking to Mello, I’m doubtful that would do much good,” L takes a sip of the coffee glibly, “He’s likely upset with you as well.”

“I know,  _ I know _ . Let me think about this one a minute,” Beyond ran a hand through his hair, and L passed him back the coffee for another sip, “Christ, I’d rather take another run with the Netas.”

“I think we both can handle it. Might need a bit of time, though.”

“Why is Mello upset?” Near asked finally. Beyond and L both turned to look at him. Beyond made a sad sort of smile, opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

“He’s upset because we’re homosexual lovers,” L said matter-of-factly. Near tried not to glare at him. His tendency to treat everything as if it were obvious was trying at times.

“Evidently. Why would that upset him at all?”

Beyond sighed deeply, “Y’see Near….people are stupid about a lot of things. Religious people are really fucking stupid about a lot of things. And one of the things that someone decided wasn’t allowed was a man and a man in love, or a woman and a woman in love.”

Near stared for a moment, curled a finger in his hair and frowned, “That is stupid. If people had a choice about who they loved, no one would love anyone at all. It seems a terrible amount of work,” 

L laughed then, and Beyond a little bit too. Near was not aware he had made a joke. He looked to Beyond in the hope of locating it, but found only an undefined expression that Matt sometimes wore when they spoke together. It didn’t give the perimeters of the disturbance yet, but Near took note of it as a data point. 

“You know, he makes a good case,” L snaked a hand up Beyond’s back, looking a little more bright-eyed after finishing the coffee. Beyond just shook his head. 

“S’true, yeah, you can’t pick who you love. But you can pick if and how you love them. And that makes a big difference. Yeah, it’s a lot of work,” at this, Beyond turned to L, and L smiled a bit back, “A lot. But it’s pretty worth it, I’d say. But that decision’s yours if it ever happens to you.”

“That’s fair. But even still. Your relationship doesn’t make the least bit of a difference to Mello, as he’s not participating in it.” B and L laughed again. Near was beginning to tire of being unintentionally hilarious. He suspected the whole thing to be insoluble nonsense with no predictive value.

But he had to solve it, if he was going to fix the damage between Mello and Matt. Near thought he might be getting a headache.

“You’re not wrong about that either-- but that isn’t going to stop people from thinking less of you, or treating you differently. People are stupid that way, and I guess running for the Mafya gave Mello some pretty stupid ideas about how people should act.”

“Yes,” said Near, selecting another corner piece from the white chaos, “I did notice that.”

“Would you believe me if I told you he’s getting better?” Near gave a rueful smile. Beyond continued, “I’m sure he’ll come around-- but it’ll probably take a bit of a push.”

Near suddenly felt the acute sensation of being watched. He looked up over the top of the sofa and found Mello, arms tightly crossed, still tucked slightly behind the door frame. Near made the mistake of catching his eye and got a glare that might melt glass for his trouble. 

“You are just too fond of troublemakers,” L said. Beyond smirked and turned his head to peck L’s lips with casual, cheeky adoration. Natural as breathing. 

Mello evidently didn’t see it that way. 

Near caught the flash of stricken horror on Mello’s face--Beyond only turned in time to see Mello’s blonde hair swishing behind him and hear his loud boots on the wooden floors. 

“Was that--?” Beyond asked, glancing back at Near, chewing at his lip.

“Well,” said L, tilting his head to regard the empty coffee mug, “that saves us the trouble of breaking it to him.” Near wondered if either of them knew what was truly at the centre of the disturbance. He supposed recently unraveling an international illegal arms dealership did make the emotions of an angry teenage ex-mafiosa seem rather secondary.

He just hoped they didn't laugh at him again.

Still, it is rather pressing to Matt, and therefore to Near as well. 

“I think Matt has feelings for him,” Near sorted a few pieces with three extensions into a pile, “I thought he had feelings for Matt as well, although the evidence suggests I was very wrong about that.”

“Hmm,” said L, pressing his index finger hard into his lower lip, “Personal blind spots are the number one cause of uncharacteristically poor observation.” L stared at Near for an uncomfortable moment while his bottom lip turned white. “B, do you want more coffee?” He stood, stretching his concave form momentarily linear as he yawned.

“Yeah, maybe breakfast. Or lunch,” Beyond didn’t get up yet, nibbling at his roughed knuckles slightly. The worry was to be expected. But he didn’t seem to be moving towards doing anything about it either. 

“Wait--” Near looked at Beyond, hoping that there was some thread of instruction in him, “How do I stop Mello from being angry?”

Even the question sounded nonsensical as it left his lips-- what force on earth could stop Mello from doing anything, really? Still, Near remembered the slump of Matt’s shoulders on the bed and thought he ought to try. 

Beyond stared at him a moment, equally incredulously, “Christ, you’re a better kid than I would have been. Uhm. Let me think a sec. I mean, chocolate is a good start, when it comes to Mello. Gives him something to do with his mouth. But truth is, no one can stop him being angry but him. It’s his problem, now.”

“Matt’s upset, because Mello is upset, because I informed them of this. This is a problem,” Near stated clearly. At least he knew now why Mello was upset, though he didn’t quite understand it. And some part of him could grasp what L had said about blind spots.

“It’s not the kind you can reason your way out of,” Beyond inclined his head, his look implacably gentle. 

“Near may have the best chance out of all of us,” L studied the coffee mug with a disinterest that doesn’t match the smile on his lips, “Mello is familiar with being angry with Near. Besides, after having carefully picked out that puzzle for you, I suspect his dislike for you does not run as deep as he’d like it to.”

“And I should like to thank him for the puzzle,” Near stated more gravely than he intended. Beyond looked momentarily confused, but he met L’s eyes, and L nodded back. 

“Alright,” Beyond shook his head, running a hand through his hair but grinning for the first time since Mello had left,  “This is insane, but alright. I think I know where you can find him, at least. But if he gives you a hard time, I’m going to kick his ass.”

Near smiled up to his cheeks, remembering L’s words, “I think I can handle him.”

* * *

They weren’t supposed to go into the old mausoleum because the roof had been condemned and could fall in at any minute. Even following the footholds scratched into the brickwork, Near became increasingly nervous the higher he got from the ground. Showers of crumbling cement fell about his fingers, one or two of the bricks were unsteady. Three quarters of the way up he had to stop for a few moments to shut his eyes and swallow hard lest his breakfast make a return. Near did not like being sick. When the danger felt past, he gritted his teeth for the final climb, sending a brick flying from beneath his foot as he hurled himself at the summit.

Near realised he needed that brick to get down. He rested his back against an ionic column and ran a strand of his soft hair soothingly between his fingers until he trusted himself not to squeak. Then he looked down.   


Mello was lying motionless, crucifix-posed on the central tombstone.    


Near took the chocolate bar that had been in his pyjama pocket and threw it in the general direction of Mello.   


Mello did not move, but turned his head slightly.   


“Fuck off, Matt.”   


“It’s not Matt.”   


Near’s voice was still slightly higher than he would like it, but not a wail of terror. That was a good start.   


“Fuck off, sheep-thing.”   


“I …um, can’t.”   


Stripes of light fell between the pillars illuminating bars of pale skin and dark clothes. Near noticed the bluish smudges beneath Mello’s eyes.   


“Try.”   


“I also wanted to say thank you for my present.”   


Mello sighed and returned to staring at the condemned ceiling.   


“You weren't supposed to like it.”   


“I know. But I do anyway. It’s the best Christmas present I ever had.”   


Mello rolled his eyes.   


“You must have had some real shitty Christmas presents before.”   


Near worked his thumb under the clump of his hair, feeling the smooth uniform structure of the hairs. It hadn't been strictly true that he had had bad presents; his mother had bought perfectly adequate gifts. It’s just they had always been for the little white bird, for the child who flew from the nursery window leaving Near in its place, the child who she hoped the doctors would return.   


Near had seen a lot of doctors, but had always returned from them stubbornly himself.   


In any case, the quality of his Christmas presents was not the matter Near had come to discuss.   


“It is just no one has considered my personal tastes before.”   


“Yeah, well I didn't know your tastes were that fucking weird.”

Near smiled a little at that. Mello’s talent for self-deception was a data point he had ascertained a long time ago. Near assumed it was a psychological trick Mello had developed to cope with moral and physical dilemmas posed by his life in Odessa.   


Oh.   


If it was a psychological protection mechanism, confronting Mello with evidence of his own self-deception could be traumatic. Near peered down nervously, Mello’s chest was rising and falling in a regular rhythm, however – considering this solely as a case, as L would--  Mello was an uncomfortably good fit for the profile of teenagers who engage in self-harming behaviours.   


“You haven't done anything – dramatic have you?”   


Mello snorted.   


“Why the fuck would I do that?”   


“Because you have had a disturbed upbringing, a history of violence and attention-seeking behaviours and you are experiencing a crisis of sexual identity,” These words came from a case file that both of them had studied. It wasn’t a murder. 

“You’re a fucking talking sheep but I don’t see you suicidal about it.”   


Near assumed that if he was returning to sheep jokes Mello was not in immediate danger.    


“I also want to talk to you because Matt is upset.”   


“He can go fuck himself.”   


“You are angry with him because he accepts Beyond and L are in a relationship?”   


At the mention of Beyond, Mello suddenly curled in on himself like burning styrofoam.   


“You set that up.”   


Near was a little confused.    


“I suspect the relationship predates my arrival at Wammy house.”   


“No I mean the kiss. You were telling L and B that you thought I was pissed because you told them they were screwing, and B thought it was funny and kissed L as a joke.”   


Mello sounded pathetic, like he was desperately holding out the last chains of his self-protection out to Near, begging him not to snap them.   


Near hesitated. On the one hand, he felt sure that Mello would experience an acute crisis if the truth was forced on him.

On the other, Near favoured truth over lies. Permitting Mello to continue with his denial would only defer the crisis, not resolve it. Mello was also thirteen, approaching or entering puberty; deferring the crisis to a time when Mello would be bigger, stronger and more emotionally unstable seemed unwise.   


“Mello, you know yourself the greatest pitfall of a detective is telling the story you want to tell rather than that the evidence tells.”   


“Baa baa Sherlock fucking Horns the number one Ovine detective.”   


“I didn't set up L and Beyond. You know this. The evidence points to this, and it is making you upset.”   
  
Mello hugged his knees into himself, curled up like a shell on the granite slab. Near assumed this was Mello experiencing the expected trauma.

“You wouldn't fucking understand Sheepy. It’s okay for you to accept shit like that because you've never had to survive in the jungle.”

Near was not aware that Mello had lived in a jungle. He assumed it was a metaphor, although not a very helpful one as the main threats in the jungle were heatstroke and various insect borne infections.

“Beyond informed me that your dislike of his relationship probably originated from Mafya values.”

Mello sat up and spat, still holding his knees tight against his chest. 

“Fuck him. Sick little faggot talking shit about me behind my back.”   


Near hadn’t heard ‘faggot’ used as an insult since he had left home. It wasn’t a good memory to bring up. His legs were starting to grow numb, “Well, as you’re not in the ‘jungle’ anymore, you would do well to accept it. I highly doubt Beyond is going to change his behaviour now. It’s not as if it’s a problem to anyone. Least of all L.”

“If I had known what a sick fuck crazy place this was I would never have agreed to come.”

“You would prefer a Ukrainian juvenile detention centre to living with a homosexual couple?”

Near did not believe this. Mello was very nonchalant about the circumstances that brought him to Wammy House, but he doubted Mello would have had much intellectual stimulation at such places. Or chocolate.

“Why you always got to be a fucking smartass, Sheepy? I didn't have a lot of options back then.”

Near felt anything but smart. Confused, a little disoriented by the sudden discord in the quiet of his world. Upset even, by the pain tangible in the air around him that he could nothing to soothe.

“I’m not - Mello I’m confused. I don't understand why everyone is so upset and I want to make it better.”

For the first time Mello turned to him, ducking his head and looking sidelong. Near made a note that showing weakness was an effective strategy.

“Doesn't it creep you out?”

“No.”

“That they do things together.”

“No.”

“You do know what sex is right?”

Near bit his lip as another tangent sprung the conversation from his grasp. 

“You are bothered by their physical relationship?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, no I’m bothered they play cards together. Yeah, Sheep that was sarcasm. Don’t you find it a little bit creepy that they're doing that together?

Near had never thought about anyone he knew in intimate situations. It seemed impolite.

“Do you give it a lot of thought?”

“No I mean, fuck no. It’s disgusting.”

Mello had clearly given it some thought.

“But it doesn't involve you. I don't like it when you explode things, so I just leave you and Matt to it.”

“You really don't get it, do you Sheepy.”

“No,” said Near sadly. “I just thought you'd be happy for them.”

Mello turned so he was sitting on the tombstone directly facing Near. He was still holding his knees, but seemed a little more alive now he was able to explain something.

“Look, the guys I ran with, they were serious  _ Bratva _ , they followed the Old School code from the Gulag days. A lot of them had done time. It’s - inside, you have to prove yourself, you have to handle yourself, because if you don't - bam you'll be some  _ Bratva’s  _ bitch in seconds.”

“Once you’re a bitch, you’re always a bitch. They tattoo you, to show your inferior. We didn't let anyone with a bitch tattoo in, because you know they’d cave. Even on the outside, the  _ Vory  _ looked after me, cos I was good looking and stuff. There were plenty of  _ touristny  _ who would have offered big money in U.S. dollars and everything. Money like that is a big deal when you’re on the streets. But the  _ Vory  _ would always remind me, get fucked once, and you’ll be fucked forever. Getting fucked makes you a pussy, a pushover.”

He paused, discovering the chocolate that Near had brought as a peace offering. Mello ducked to retrieve it from the floor, then bit into it with a vicious crackle.

“I thought B would understand that. Like he’d know the code and have honour. But now he’s just -I mean, do you think they do that?”

Near was having difficulty keeping up. From what he gathered, B had been correct in Mello getting his dislike of homosexuality from the Mafiya. However neither B nor L were ever in that organisation, so expecting them to follow its rules seemed rather foolish.

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Fuck’s sake Sheep, do you think B’s been buttfucked.”

Near had a shocky feeling of cold all over him. He possibly should have worn a warmer coat. His cheeks felt a bit numb.

“I really think that is B’s personal business.” Mello’s crude reductionist view of the affection he had witnessed in the saloon was beginning to wear out his patience. He wondered how Matt managed.

He thought about Matt, who was always kind to him, slumped and sad in his room, missing the other half of his duo. He clenched his fists. For Matt.

“I mean, L is number one, so he’d never…”

“Mello, unless L and Beyond have a very specific fetish it seems unlikely they would conduct their sexual activities following the rules of a Russian gulag.”

Mello looked up.

“Did you just say ‘fetish’?”

“Yes, it is sexual arousal from an object or scenario without overt sexual connotations. It was mentioned in the ‘Kirby’ case, with the slippers -,”

“Being a smartass again, Sheepy. You asked me to explain. I explained. Don't take the piss.”

Near suspected he had been unintentionally humorous again and Mello found it inappropriate. Considering nobody had found him funny at all prior to today, it appeared an odd assumption to draw.

“So to sum up, you are upset that B, who you previously looked up to as a role model, has committed the unforgivable act of being the receptive partner in anal sex.”

“You think he does then?” said Mello despondently.

“I really don't have an opinion on that matter. From what I have read it is very much an individual taste, and many couples don't engage in that act at all.”

“Do you think he sucks cock?”

“I don't think about it at all. It seems to me the only person who could answer that question would be B.”

“He’d tell me to fuck off.”

Near didn’t feel comfortable around curses. They felt too violent somehow. But he felt in this case such a response would be both correct and justified.

“But that is the source of your upset? B’s putative sex life?”

“Yeah.”

Mello had dropped his legs and was now kicking them irritably against the tombstone.

“So why are you angry at Matt?”

Mello made a growling noise and threw himself down on the tombstone.

Near balled himself up tighter. It was a long way down and he seemed to be back to square one. For a few minutes, his questions were answered with ‘Fuck off, Sheepy’ or alternatively “Baaa baaaa.”

From this Near deduced that the pain caused by the rift with Matt was greater than the pain caused by B’s betrayal.

“Fuck off,” said Mello for the sixth time.

“I would like to,” said Near, “particularly now that you are no longer making sense at all. But I really can't.”

There was silence for a long moment.

“You really can’t get yourself down,” said Mello to the ceiling. It was further evidence that the weakness strategy worked.

“I think a brick fell out when I was coming up. We may both be stuck.”

“Don't be an idiot Sheepy, if a brick has fallen out it would make an even better foothold.”

“I don't think I do well pointing downwards.”

“You don't climb heading downwards, what the fuck are you, Gollum?”  

Mello seemed to remember the half eaten chocolate bar in his hand and took another bite.

“Come to think of it, I didn't know you could climb upwards.”

“I didn't know either until I got here.”

“Wow, you must have really liked that shitty jigsaw.”

“Yes. I do. And I was worried about everything.”

“Yeah. It’s really fucked up. But that's how life is, so you better get used to it.”

Near smiled sadly. He had grown rather fond of his life not being ‘fucked up’.

“Are you going to make up with Matt?”

“Nah,” said Mello. “He disrespected me.”

Matt disrespected Mello at least once an hour so Near doubted that was the true reason. 

“But I am going to get you down, provided you do one thing for me.”

“What?”

“Fuck off.”

Near suspected he had walked into that one. Mello was next to him on the ledge in less than five seconds, he bounded up the wall as if vertical objects meant nothing.

“Okay Sheep, I’m going to have to touch you. You okay with that?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Just put your arms around my shoulders and I’ll grab your leg.”

Mello was too warm. Near’s nose was tucked in behind his ears, too close. He smelt slightly sweet and almost clay like, earth and chocolate, but it was over very quickly.

Mello got Near on his feet and looked a bit embarrassed at being caught being helpful. Near turned on his heels and kept his side of the bargain, disappearing into the thin winter light.


	5. B, December 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for a fluffy ending (with a side of angst), everyone gets what they need this Christmas <3 
> 
> Including, you know, a terrible singalong. Which I encourage you ALL to go for this holiday season, if the opportunity appears.

A night without nightmares. If that wasn’t already a good enough Christmas gift, B turned his head over to nestle his cheek in the mess of Lawliet’s hair. Lawliet was breathing easily, sleeping deeply, no doubt still exhausted from the night before.

I’d call that payback for sure, B thinks with a grin, studying the soft-and-sharpness of L’s cheekbones, the fading scars of the past few days under his eyes.B has a sudden yearning to grab his sketchbook and take an out on this Christmas, but that wouldn’t be fair to the kids, not really.

He still hasn’t seen Mello since the….incident yesterday. Well, time to face that shit, B thought with a grimace, rolling up in the bed.

L’s eyes flickered open slightly when B sat up. He mumbled something incoherent and B couldn’t help but smile and place a few kisses along his jawline, lacing their fingers together. God, it’s so nice to just see him like this.

B thought that was the best Christmas gift he’d had in years.

“Sleep, alright? We’ll all be here in a few hours.”

“How are you even moving after last night?” L mumbled into the pillow.

“I wasn’t up for four days before, stupid.”

“We slept yesterday,” L mumbled, his eyelashes already fluttering shut again.

“For only seven hours. Give yourself some time,” B rubbed a finger over L’s knuckle, leaning into his clean sugar-scent, “M’still gonna be here when you wanna get up.”

“Fine, fine,” L grumbled, clearly not liking the dependence on sleep as opposed to his usual choices. He still smiled a little, and squeezed B’s hand, “Happy Christmas, B.”

“Happy Christmas, Lawliet.”

Beyond shouldered his pack from the night before, which was weighted with presents picked up in New York. First order of the morning though, coffee. And possibly a cigarette. It wasn’t until the smell of roasted beans was filtering out into the kitchen that he noticed he was wearing L’s blue, star-covered sweater.

Mm, that’s particularly incriminating, B thought ruefully to himself, tapping on the coffee maker. He studied his reflection in the chrome on the stove only to also note an angry hickey L had left on his collarbone. Oh. Well it doesn’t get much worse than that, either. He tugged the sweater overtop of the spot, but doubted it would do much good.

It’s then he noticed he had company in the kitchen.

Mello was regarding him from the edge of the door, clenching and unclenching his fists. Looking distinctly paler than usual. B stared back at him. Mello’s eyes seem to go a little buggy zeroeing in on B’s collarbones. He walked forward like he was in some kind of bizarre trance.

It’s too early in the morning for this shit, B thought.

“You got something to say, say it,” B reached into his pocket for his Marlboros, setting them on the counter while he dug for the lighter.

Talking, apparently, wasn’t Mello’s M.O.

B didn’t see the punch coming until a second too late, when it lands with a crack on his ribs. The pain rippled through his solar plexus, making his eyes flicker red and white. A fuzz gathered in his ears as his hands turned to fists before he could think.

Mello started yelling, fists flailing while B shoved him aside and time started to slow down. The instincts started to kick in. The boy didn’t look familiar any more-- or was he a boy at all? He threw a punch with the finesse of someone much older. B dodged blow after blow until his opening made itself clear.

Sloppy stance. B took him out at the knees, wrenching his arms up where he can’t kick, and for a fleeting moment the flash of blonde reminded him of a childhood bogeyman-- someone I should have killed while I had the chance.

B was a breath away from breaking kneecaps when he remembered who he was fighting.

Fuck.

He kneed Mello in the gut and shoves him away, breathing hard. It took a minute for the boy to even start to look like Mello again.

There it is, even on fucking Christmas, B breathed out. Can’t escape what I am.

Mello was on the floor, breathing hard and winded from the knee to the stomach. He wasn’t getting up yet, which gave B a chance to clear his head. He picked up the Marlboro he was about to light, flicked it into flame. He took a drag and tried to say something that was mostly kid-friendly.

Or at least Mello-friendly. Mello opened his mouth like he was gonna yell something again.

“Shut up.” B was even a little surprised at how tired it came out. He took another drag while Mello lay splayed on the floor. Tried again.

“Listen, I’ve just done a deal with a crooked arms dealer, driven through a fucking snowstorm with bullets and an asshole cosplaying James Bond behind me, only to miss my goddamn flight, bribe my way through several security lineups to get on a plane to see the people I love, which L, might I add, is at the top of that fucking list,” B exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching it coalesce into something with feathers and a sharp beak.

“And it’s Christmas. In short, really not feeling your shit today, Mels.”

Mello winced, B was guessing he hit the ground hard, but the kid’s tough. He forced himself to stand, fists still clenched. Jesus, he never gives up, B thought, tapping the ash on the counter and trying to tamp down his anger, set his eyes back right.

“Talk. I might hurt you if you try that again,” B meant it. He doesn’t like talking that way to kids, but Mello’s not a normal kid. And it’s too early in the morning for another bout with the memories.

“I trusted you.”

B caught the swing of Mello’s arm without dropping his cigarette, prepared this time. He twisted it behind Mello’s back, just short of where he would hear the bone crack.

“I said, talk,” said B, “because your day is not today, and you don't wanna live as fucked up as I’ve left people.”

“I am talking,” hissed Mello, “I said, I trusted you.”

“Trusted me to what Mello?” B could feel himself shifting, feel the boy’s arm slip into any of the arms he had held like this, any of the bones he had snapped. B’s eyes peeled back Mello’s skin until he just saw just the skeleton, his grip on Mello’s arm tightening. “Trusted me to be like one of the little thugs you ran with? The baby Nazis that made you feel like a big man?”

He threw Mello forward, out of his grip and onto the floor just before the bone splintered.

“If I played by their rules, you’d be dead now, wouldn't you?”

Mello didn't answer.

“It's not like they would put up with your drama queen shit.”

Whatever Mello mumbled, B didn't hear it. He was concentrating on keeping his voice level, keeping the dead on the edges of his field of vision.

“You were a good boy for them, weren't you.”

He thought he heard Mello sob quietly against the floor. Tears on Christmas Day, how fucking typical. It could just as easily as been one of the ghosts.

“You had to be. But you’re a fucking little terrorist here. Because you can get away with it. But here's the deal, we put up with your shit, you put up with ours.”

“Them’s the rules. And if you fuck that up, you will be on a plane back to Odessa, because I’ve killed younger than you, and I sure as hell don't want to ever do that again.”

While he was talking Mello had scrabbled upright, sitting on the floor, holding his knees. He did look very pink around the eyes, although that could be from the fight. B let out a gust of breath, figuring he should let up on the kid a tiny bit.

“Look Mels, don't try that shit again. I dunno which version of my life they've given you at Wammy's, but I guess it was highly edited. I'm really not a good person to fuck with.”

“I know that dumbass,” spat Mello.

“So was your plan death by Beyond Birthday?”

Mello shrugged. B lit another cigarette, the dregs of his anger fading into the whispy smoke. A two cigarette morning. Just when he thought the day was starting off right.

“Mind if I take a seat?”

Mello was giving him the silent treatment. The smoke coiled to visions of a blond boy, hanging lifeless from a noose. Not a memory this time. And it's worse than that, thought B, worse cause I know whatever stupid he gets up to won't send him to join the ghosts. He’ll just become paralysed or comatose.

“Aside from not really being fair on me, is it really worth dying for?”

Mello scratched the floor with his thumbnail for a while. It was cold on the tile, his ass was sore, and his ribcage still smarted a little from Mello’s shitty punch. But something told him it wasn’t time to let up just yet. Not from this angle, anyways.

“How did you end up - you know, turning?” Mello asked the floor.

B took a long drag on his cigarette. There, he thought, knew you could do it, Mell. He searched for the right way to start, “I dunno, turned 13 and started noticing my roommate was really hot.”

“I thought someone had done something to you, on the streets or whatever.”

“That's not how you end up gay Mello,” B paused, bit the loose flesh on his knuckle, “did anyone do anything like that to you?”

“No,” said Mello, “the _Bratva_ would have killed them.”

“So they kept you safe at least, even if they put some pretty stupid ideas in your head.”

Mello let that one drop. B was pretty sure there would be a sizeable dent in the flooring by now.

“Weren't you scared?”

“Of what?”

“Of being gay?”

“I was scared he’d find out. Because I was just a lanky thirteen year old jerk with acne.”

“You had acne?”

“Yeah, still got the scars, here.”

B pointed to his cheek where a few half-moon craters still dented his skin.

“Oh. I thought that was from something cool.”

B snorted.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

Even Mello smiled a little at that, although he didn't quite manage to look B in the face.

“Didn't it feel weird?”

B thought back to his own awkwardly emerging sexuality. It had felt a lot of things, uncomfortable, embarrassing and often - when left to his own devices, really really good.

“Not really, no.”

“Did he ever find out? Your friend.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“How did he take it?”

“It turned out he liked me too.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, that's the simplified version of events. We were idiots for a while first, of course.”

“Because he didn't want to be gay?”

“No, no.” B paused, wondering how he’d ever got into this conversation, “I think, look when you're friends with someone, it's important. Then if you decide to change that to getting into a relationship- well, it makes things different. You hurt each other more, I guess, although you also get -,”

“To have sex with them,” said Mello.

“Well yeah,” said B, “although I was going to say - love them more, in a different kind of way.”

“Sex,” said Mello.

“Remind me to have this conversation with you again when you are not thirteen.” B bit at his knuckle. “What I’m saying is that it's a tough call to decide whether or not to turn a friendship into a romance.”

“But you did have sex with him, didn't you?”

B smiled. “That's really for me to tell you another time Mels.”

“Who was on top?”

B rolled his eyes.

“Okay, new research project: ways people have sexual contact without anyone being ‘on top.’”

The pink on Mello’s face now had nothing to do with the fight, B was sure.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’m deadly serious. I want three thousand words on Rogers desk by 7th January. Consider it punishment for fighting.”

“Roger’s desk?”

“In a sealed envelope. And don't try to get off with anyone until it is completed. I’m serious.”

Mello was really blushing by that point. Serves him right, thought B. It was rather - restful to get revenge in ways that didn't involve bloodshed. He could get used to it.

“You’ll find an extensive collection of reference material in the personal development section-,”

“Yes I get it okay,” said Mello.

They were quiet for a few moments, B exhaling trails of blissfully anonymous smoke, Mello now scratching at the frayed knee of his jeans.

“But I don't get why it never creeped you out.”

“I dunno. Maybe seeing the day people die above their heads used up my creeped out quota.”

“It creeps me out.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Look, you're kind of going through a shit time right now. You're going to get creeped out and you're going to get upset, but the thing is, those feelings are your shit and you're going to have to deal with them.”

Mello bit his lip, looking a little less red-eyed, “So you’re telling me to make it up with Matt?”

“You fell out with Matt?” B should have put two and two together, after what Near had said. But fuck, he really needed a coffee right now.

“You know I did, Sheep thing told you.”

“What about?”

“Sheep told you that too.”

“I want to know your version.”

“Sheep said you were gay and Matt stood up for him over me.”

“Well, Near was right,” said B, stretching his legs up and going for the coffee pot.

“Yeah, well he still sided with him. Then he got funny about me getting creeped by that.”

“So Matt thought my sex life was my business and you thought I needed a punch in the face for it,” B took a seat back down next to Mello, sipping the well-sugared coffee.

“Yeah well. I mighta called him a sheepshagger once or twice.”

Mello, to his credit, looked distinctly shamefaced now, B kept a stern face on, “Dick move, Mello.”

“I said I got it, alright. It’s like you said, all this shit is hard to handle right all the time.” Mello paused, and finally turned to look at B. “So how do you deal with your feelings?”

B took a draught of the coffee.

“Unhealthily,” he said blankly, before snapping out of it a bit. “Or we could bake cookies.”

Mello gave B a look that B translated as ‘Bitch, please.’

“It is Christmas morning.”

* * *

Right, so cookies then. B got out the requisite bowls and ingredients from the now-emptied kitchen (the staff traditionally took Christmas off, and most of the kids had brunch in Winchester after mass). He eased open the - slightly rusted - iron door to the old bread oven and removed two bags of chocolate chips, coaxing the creaking hinges back just as he heard stockinged feet brush against the tile.

“I dunno if I’m feeling cookies this morning, Near,” groused a sleepy sounding Matt.

“It might be - um -fun?” said Near.

Matt was looking at Near peculiarly, so intent on watching the pale child turn slightly pinkish that he didn't notice a third body in the door way until:

“You didn't tell me Nazi-Barbie was going to be joining us.”

Well, thought B, if you fall for a deception as bad as Near just pulled, life really is going to be full of surprises.

“I’m dealing with my issues,” hissed Mello.

“Bully for flipping you,” said Matt.

B decided that he needed further caffeination before he attempted to wade his way through the clusterfuck of pre-teen angst before him.

“We are making cookies,” said B, mainly to the coffee pot. “Near, Matt - do you want a coffee.”

“I want a coffee,” said Mello.

“You have already been up an hour,” said B, “you had your chance.”

B settled Matt in with a syrupy black coffee, because God knows the kid probably needed it, and poured a second mug for himself.

“Coffee, uh -Near?”

Near was unexpectedly near. At his elbow on the counter-top in fact.

“Could I have a glass of milk?”

At least with all that white he was probably hygienic. B poured out the drink and offered it to him.

“New skill set, N?”

“He can't get down,” said Mello, sullenly.

Near appeared pleased with his new vantage point and B clocked him taking in the kitchen and it's occupants like a pro.

He wondered if normal eleven-year olds did that.

He wondered if he had ever met a normal eleven-year old.  

Anyway, cookies. There were three hundred and sixty four perfectly good days on which to mope about our fucked up lives, thought B. We can give give it a rest today.

“So um, do you have a recipe for these cookies, or do you just wing it?”

“Depends,” said B, “are we looking at experimental or edible.”

By now, Mello had clocked the chocolate chips on the counter, and was giving B a look that suggested his ribs would get another work-out if a single one of them was sacrificed.

“Okay,” said B, “edible it is. I think Jinny keeps a recipe- oh thanks, N.”

Near was quite getting into the climbing thing.

“So do we just watch, or what?” said Matt.

B surveyed the recipe, not quite sure how to convert the ingredients into peace on earth.

“No you get stuck in. Like they say on TV, cooperate,” B found the stereo, at least, and turned on the radio so he could listen to something other than the pregnant silence. Which yielded a chirpy version of ‘Sleigh Ride’. B deemed it acceptable, “So I think we need butter, eggs, sugar, chocolate.”

Mello perked up a little at the mention of chocolate.

“Mels, can you beat sugar like you beat my ribs?”

Matt slightly jumped at that revelation. Good, thought B, a little bit of curiosity might get him reaching out, poor doomed fool.

“Matt, you feed the sugar in as Mels beats it.”

Matt scowled at Mello and immediately dumped a white mountain in the butter bowl. Mello attacked it furiously with his fork.

“I’m trying to be nice to you, you twat,” hissed Mello. 

Yeah, he's doomed. But no more doomed than the poor idiot sleeping upstairs, thought B. He took me on knowing the worst of me. And that works, keeps both of us out of trouble. Well, kind of.

“Yeah, well it's one faggot and two sheepshaggers late for that.”

Fair dos to Matt, he can give as good as he gets.

“What’s sheep doing? Sitting on his fluffy ass?”

“Near is in charge of the chocolate,” said B, turning up ‘Fairy tale of New York’ to drown out Mello's Russian cursing.

By the time Near had meticulously weighed out 12 ounces of chocolate chips, the butter was a smooth sugary mass, and -

“Matt, wash your hands after your fingers have been in your mouth.”

“Yes boss.”

Looked rather delicious. It looked like the coffee was kicking in a little too.

“Okay, now for the tricky bit. Take a bowl each, and put in half the flour, cocoa and salt. I'm going to give you half each the creamed butter, and you’re going to beat an egg into it, then beat it the dry stuff. Are you good with that?”

Mello was still mumbling under his breath about lack of access to chocolate, not helped by the radio suddenly switching to a quieter melody.

“Am I to work alone?” said Near.

“Nope, you're team B,” said B.

“That makes us the A team,” crowed Mello, but B noticed the little smile that had appeared on Near.

He liked Near. He couldn't help it. Near had been his case, and it had been more than rescuing a lost little child from the needles and the God-knows-what the doctors were playing with, it was the first case he took as team Wammy, the case that brought him home.

Near was meticulous in adding tiny quantities of powder to his mix. At this rate, Mello and Matt, who were now both liberally covered in cocoa and flour themselves, were going to have their batch in the oven way before Near. B guessed Mels was on a race to the chocolate chips.

B measured out half a teaspoon of salt and added it to Near’s flour-cocoa mix. Near smiled at B again, a real smile this time. In truth, Near had a rather creepy smile, but well, creepy kid. It suited him. B smiled back.

“Thought you’d have salt enough, Sheepy.”, hissed Mello. B was readying his death stare, when a melancholy tenor started to warble out of the radio.

_‘The mistletoe hung in the old castle halls,_

_The holy branch stood on the old oak walls_.’

“I had a metaphor last night,” said Near into his cookie mix. “I’ve never thought of one before.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the eerie whisper from the radio, and the sound of Mello’s furious beating.

“Mello has discovered geometry can be non-Euclidian.”

“Yeah, I learnt that two years ago, you stupid sheep.”

“It’s a metaphor,” said Matt. “It doesn't mean you really did it, it means it stands for something else, right Near?”

“Yeah, I know what a metaphor is too, Stripey,” said Mello.

“Go on,” said B softly, raising his hand to silence the bickering to his left.

“People believed in Euclid. They believed that geometry was everything, that it was the answer to every question, perfectly logical, perfectly ordered. They believed like it was a religion, which is very bad mathematics, but it kept things simple.”

“Then mathematics moved on. They proved that Euclid could not answer all questions, there were forms that existed outside of those rules. There was a lot of very productive mathematics in this time.”

“I guess they thought it was cool,” said Matt.

“Yes, but people didn't. People thought you could use Euclid to prove all sorts of things about humans, like right and wrong, which seems foolish now, of course.”

“What the fuck has this got to do with me?” said Mello, in imminent danger of beating his fork through his bowl.

“You had a set of rules that made the world safe. Then you were given a proof that the world did not follow those rules. Therefore you feel unsafe.”

Near looked up from his bowl. Mello looked as if his face were imploding from whatever fused wires were sparking in his head.

“Like I said to B, it’s a lot of shit to deal with.”

Near twirled a strand of his hair. Matt stole another glob of cookie mix into his mouth.

“But you don't have to deal with it alone,” said B, “if you knock of the asshole trip.”

“Alright, alright. I'm here aren't I?” said Mello, “I’m being nice.”

“Got anything you need to say?” said B.

“Oh fuck you, you know I don't apologise,” said Mello, “Never have, never will.”

Clearly, there was still a fairly sizeable chunk of mafiosa that still needed filing down.

“Near had never scaled nine foot walls until he was actually worried about your sorry ass,” said B, “if he can acquire a new skill set, so can you.”

Mello threw the fork dramatically into his bowl of gloop.

“Alright. I'm sorry, okay. Matt I was a dick. I said stuff I shouldn't have and it was shitty. I’ve acted like an idiot and expected you all to put up with my shit. And I’m sorry ‘bout serving fists for breakfast. Dick moves, Mello was a dick, can we move on.”

B raised his eyebrows and looked at Matt and Near.

“Did you really try to punch out B?” said Matt.

Mello kind of shrugged. B thought Mels eyes were looking a bit watery again, but he held it together well.

“Jesus,” said Matt. “You okay?”

“Should see the other guy,” said Mello. Matt looked at B. B shrugged.

“I guess that’s the most sense we are going to get. Now it looks like you’re about ready to get those in the oven.”

Near solemnly handed over the chocolate chips. Matt started giggling, maybe at Near, maybe at the situation, B wasn't really sure. He felt a change in the air pressure, but wasn't quite certain where it would take them.

B took a deep breath. It would take them wherever. Let's just ride the storm, same as ever.

Matt and Mello seemed okay right now, busily spooning out their weird production on a sheet of greaseproof paper. The dough they had produced was more of a splatter, B didn't hold out much hope for the end product.

Given Mello was conducting a thorough salvage operation on the chocolate chips, it seemed he had given up on the first batch too. Still, Matt gamely thrust them in the oven.

“What now?” said Mello, wiping a chocolate smear from his face.

“Eight minutes,” said B.

Mello made a noise like B had announced a death sentence. In the background, Near was just getting down to his last third of powder. B was about to offer to help, when the radio started up with the throaty purr of ‘Santa Baby’.

B guessed it was possibly still a sore spot. But hell, Mello had seen him in drag what five times before. He subtly changed his stance, his body falling into the familiar disguise, even without the costume:

‘...a 54 convertible too,

Light blue,’

B batted his lashes and hammed it right up, fluttering his fingers and pouting as he mimed along to the lyrics. Matt sniggered and then, joined in, flopping a tea-towel over his head to flick like locks.

Matt made a worse woman than L, but still he was cheerfully preening along, until even Mello's lips twitched. Dammit, thought B, Mels is not going to pass up a chance to out perform us.

Mello held out on his inner drama queen, until the last verse, when he was on his toes, sliding his hand over his jutting hipbone and crooning through an exaggerated pout.

Mello made a disconcertingly good girl, even as a joke. He had the mannerisms right with very little effort. B could see how he could make it work for real, at fourteen he would pass for twenty.

Don't go there, thought B. A was one ghost of Christmas past that could spare them a visitation. By the time he pulled himself out of his thoughts, Matt and Mels were cheerily air guitaring along to Slade.

Fuck it. B joined in. Here it is, Merry Christmas.

By the time Near was whispering “Africa receives moderate winter snowfall in elevations above 1,500 metres,” Mello and Matt had assembled a percussion section of saucepan lids and were tunelessly banging along to Band Aid, bellowing ‘Feed the Wooo - oorld’.

It was at that point the smoke alarms went off. B yelled at Matt or Mello to get the oven off, and made a mad dash for the basement, hoping he remembered the reset code.

When he has silenced the bleeping, B crept back to the kitchen, suddenly very aware of the silence. It was too late. B returned to the kitchen to find a familiar hunched figure, glaring at the world through sleep puffy eyes.

“Coffee?” said B.

At least Near’s cookie dough looked perfect.

* * *

Once L had coffee in him and B had directed something like a clean-up of the kitchen, they brought the single surviving batch of cookies into the drawing room to sit around the fire. B couldn’t help but smile a little fondly, imagining the scene Wammy had recalled to him the day before.

Playing cards like proper partners against crime. The Wammy house did kinda teach them how to do it right. Or at least how to deal with it all. B doesn’t let himself feel too guilty. If it kept Lawliet off the drugs, nothing else mattered.

“Alright, gather round, troublemakers. In a miracle that no one saw coming, we have cookies, no one has died or bled today, it’s Christmas, and here we all are,” he shucked his bag out from where he’d stashed it and dropped it on the rug.

“Is that supposed to be a motivational speech?” Mello snarked around a chocolate cookie, “Yay, Christmas?”

“Shut up, Mells. What I’m trying to say is I brought you all presents. For Christmas. Don’t tell the other kids.”

“This would be considered special preferences?” Near cocked his head slightly, nibbling at the edge of a cookie.

“Well, that and they’ll know I like you three best. Plus Linda, she gets some new charcoal that I like. Anyways--” he reached into his bag for the wrapped packages that he’d kept in his rucksack even through the ride in the storm. The white for Near, red for Mello, green for Matt. Lawliet had brought up the gifts from his desk too, and passed the gold-wrapped gift to B with a tiny smile.

B smiled wide back, hoping that he’d chosen right, for Lawliet. It was a little close on the heels of the mess they just left in New York-- but then, he was hoping that the memories ran a little deeper. Lawliet was handling the gift carefully, the same tense way he always did. Trying to guess what it was.  

Matt tore through his paper the fastest, whereas Near and Mello both began delicately handling theirs in a similar way to L. They liked to play the game. Matt grinned ear-to-ear when he opened up the box to reveal the enterprise solid-state drive that B had spotted in a pawn shop.

“Wow, B-- uh, how much was this? There’s gotta be a million megs on here,” Matt adjusted his googles with a bit of a gasp.

“It’s definitely worth more than I paid for it, but that’s about the best my eyes can tell you on that front,” B winked, “Put it to good use.”

Matt nodded, “Thanks, I will.”

Mello was still shifting his gift back and forth with an air of concentration. B figured he had a pretty decent chance of guessing right. Near had ceased to manhandle his present and is curling a finger around his hair, “Story book, or notebook. More likely the latter.”

“Not quite. Give it a look,” B said gently, enjoying the way Near’s brow furrowed in confusion as he worked the paper open. Even Mello stopped for a moment to watch, although maybe just gloating over Near having incorrectly guessed the gift. Near let out a little gasp when the plain yellow book slid out.

“Oh. You got me a book. On non-Euclidean geometry,” Near was holding it with a peculiar reverence that B doesn’t quite know how to place.

He seems more confused than happy, so B felt like he should say something, “Sorry, I thought maybe it’d be something you’re into. Sorry you don’t like it, I mean. I can get you something else you like better?”

“No, I love it. But why would you encourage more of...this?” Near almost looks a little teary-eyed. Over math. Well, B thought, it’s not like I wasn’t a pretty weird kid too.

“I mean, you like it, Near. You should get gifts you like. Plus I thought it was pretty cool shit. Some of the manifolds, I mean.”

Near mumbled something that sounded incoherently like a thank you, but he seemed to be having trouble putting words together. Even Mello looked a little soft-eyed at that, though he turned his attentions back to his box, shifting it back and forth.

“Thoughts, Mell?”

“It’s pretty heavy, like, it’s got a weight to it that’s familiar,” Mello rattled the box once, trying to decide before his eyes widen all of a sudden.

“You didn’t,” Mello made a pistol with his hand, and B smirked. Mello whooped, “You serious?”

“I mean, it is Christmas. And lucky for you I decided this before you started giving me shit, so yeah. Don’t make me regret it,” B grinned a little more as Mello tore of the paper, lifted off the lid to reveal the slightly beat-up Beretta 92 that had been his right hand for more than a few cases, “I didn’t load it.”

“Shit. This has seen action, hasn’t it?” Mello handled it with the appropriate amount of awe, and respect. At least there, B could tell the kid was ready for it.

“Yeah, that one brought me luck with the Magic Lantern especially. It’s a steady shot,” B already puts out a hand as Mello goes to cock it, “Hey, you know the rules.”

“You said it wasn’t loaded!”

“Like I said, you know the rules,” he glared to let Mello know this was serious shit, “For use at the range only, Mels. I’ll let Roger know. I know you’re good with a lot of the weapons there. This one’s yours now.”

Mello lowered the weapon back into the box and slid it over to B. So definitely getting the message, “Thanks B.”

Mello’s gaze travels over to L, who is turning the midsize box over in his hands.

“Plane tickets,” L looked at B slowly, drawing the glance of all the kids as he set the blue box down in front of him, “Possibly a hotel booking.”

“Yeah,” he smiled a little bit. Lawliet had always been very good at the game, though B was often able to surprise him.

“But where, I can’t begin to think,” L pressed a finger to his lips carefully.

“I dunno if I wanna make you guess, cause I’m not sure I chose right,” B looked at the ground a bit, and Lawliet nudged him with his shoulder.

“You generally have very good instincts,” L worked the paper off slowly, lifted the lid to reveal the Heathrow to JFK tickets, dated for December 30th, and the brochure for the Casablanca Hotel, Times Square. Where they had their first new beginning together, or at least that’s how B thought of it.

He hoped Lawliet felt the same way.

“So. You think you can take New Year’s off?”

“You got the same room, didn’t you?” L’s voice was so perfectly soft for a moment, a smile spreading over his lips with all the weight of that old, yet so young memory. B let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “Of course I’ll come.”

“I thought it’d be nice to go back where we started, even if we’ve been around the block there a few times. Besides, I know you’re eyeing that case in Chicago, if you’re up for afters,” he winked to try and cut the tension between them, but L just nudged his shoulder gently again. Gratefully, almost.

“It’s perfect. Thank you. Now, open yours. Or guess,” Lawliet clasped a hand over his just briefly, eyeing the kids with an air of nervousness. Or maybe he was nervous about B’s reaction too. B squeezed his hand back before giving the box a rattle. It jingled.

“Well, I mean, they sound like keys, but that’s probably bullshit.”

“Did you get him a car?” Mello bounced up and down a bit, which B gave him a pointed ‘shut up’ look, before turning back to the paper. He worked the package open to find a familiar, if a little rusty set of keys. His keys.

“These are for my motorbike, yeah?” it was his turn to ask very softly. This isn’t the motorbike he drove through the storm in Queens, thought that was a slick piece of work. No, this was the motorbike he’d stashed in various garages in Europe, driven for years, with and without Lawliet behind him.

But what was spinning across B’s brain, already overwrought with living ghosts-- was that this was the motorbike that L had totaled. The same one B had arrested him for stealing, to force his hand.

“It’s in the garage, now. Ready for use.”

L’s hand wasn’t shaking when B took it now, feeling the distinct vertigo of wonderment, “How on earth….?”

“It wasn’t it good shape, but I found the right mechanic. A lot of the original parts are still there. The one’s that are new still drive well, or so Wedy tells me. I prefer to ride, not drive,”

“You fixed my bike. No. You fucking had it brought back from the dead,” B stared at L, and hoped his expression would convey the depth of what this meant to him.

“Yes. It was the least I could do,” L smiled just the tiniest bit, and B decided, yeah, meaningful stares weren’t gonna do it. This kind of present deserved a kiss, kids or no kids. And he’d been hungry for the softness of Lawliet’s thin lips since he rolled out of bed this morning.

It was Near, surprisingly, who cleared his throat to break them up a few beautiful seconds later, “I believe public displays of affection are considered uncomfortable?”

“Yeah, knock it off, you two, I’m gonna throw up,” but Matt was grinning at Mello, and Mello did not, in fact, look like he was going to throw up, so B supposed things were fine.

No, rather. Things were more than fine. It was Christmas and they were together and safe. Happy, even.

That was more than fine enough for the entire holiday.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you have time this busy holiday to leave a comment, really that would make our Christmas <3


End file.
